


The Unresolved

by Of_Princes_and_Savages



Series: Unresolved Ever After [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst now--Happy endings later, Future Fic, I laugh at canon, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Suicide Attempt, but upcoming abuse, will tag when it starts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 266,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages
Summary: 10 years after Mr. Hyde's defeat and the birth of Belle and Gold's child, very little between them has changed. On her part, Belle expected Gold to change for her and their son. On his part, Gold didn't know what to say and so said nothing. And things were left unresolved...until they almost never had the chance to fix things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST OFF! No character death, uh, as of yet so far as I know, there there is an attempted suicide trigger for these first few chapters. SECOND! I have every hope that Rumbelle will be repaired this season, but not if they don't bleeping talk instead of...whatever this is they did in Season 5. THIRD! I will work sporadically on "The Crystal Looking-Glass", probably throughout Season 6, but I just can't deal with it right now, but it isn't abandoned, and is unaffiliated with this story. Okay? Okay:

It was Friday and an hour after school...and Oliver wasn't home yet.

Storybrooke was (mostly) a safe, quiet town in the past year. The last incident involved the Black Cauldron spilling the undead out into the streets, and that wasn't something Belle wanted to think about right now. She had stood up, fiddled with the library cart, and sat back down to play with the objects within reach on her desk, so many times now that Belle knew it was starting to look a little desperate.

Her son would be ten this year, the smallest boy in his fourth grade class. He was slight, with blue eyes and pale skin, and with a lighter shade of brown hair than she had. People insisted he got "his good looks" from her, but all Belle ever saw in him was his father. Especially these past few months. And that wasn't necessarily a good thing, considering...

Sighing heavily, Belle ran her hand through her hair and took another deep breath. The past decade had been harder than all three decades she was trapped under the hospital, really, if only because there was no curse oppressing her. She couldn't even pinpoint when it all began, no, she _could_ , but she didn't want to think about that either. Her friends assumed it started when Rumpelstiltskin couldn't wake her without magical help instead of True Love. Belle knew that it started much earlier than that, but she had always thought it was fixable...until the Black Cauldron incident eight months ago...and her hope was further smashed three months ago...

The library door opened and Henry walked in. At twenty-three, going on twenty-four, Belle had to look up at Henry now. He was taller than his mothers, but he never really changed on the inside. And at his side was his thirteen-year-younger uncle, Oliver, who was sulking. Again. Oh god, what now?

"What happened?" she groaned, hurrying to meet them half way to the desk. "Why are you so late, I was getting worried!"

Oliver didn't say anything, but Henry put on a smile, squeezing his thin shoulder.

"We were just talking Belle, time got away from us-"

"I got in a fight."

"What?" Belle whipped her head around to look at her son. His clothes were a little dirty and, yes, the collar of his sweater was stretched out like someone gave it a yank. There was a purple bruise under his right eye and his lower lip was split, but it looked like it had already been tended to. Henry must've intervened. "Oliver, what happened?"

"Neal's a bitch."

"Oliver!"

"Well he is!" he snapped, blue eyes glaring up at her. "And he hit me first!"

"When did this happen?" Belle winced, bending down to touch the bruise on her son's face, only to have him turn away stubbornly. "Oliver Mauri-"

"Don't call me that," he muttered, and Belle had enough of that.

She stood up and frowned, pointing to the back of the library where the stairwell leading upstairs was. "Go start on your homework if you don't want to talk to me, but we _will_ be talking later. Do you understand me?"

Oliver trudged off, his small frame fraught with tension. His coat and uniform slacks were black, his hair just a little long in the front. Put a little cane in his right hand and he'd look like his father in miniature. That couldn't have been a good sign though. It was times like this that made Belle wonder if she should send him to Archie, and what in the world had happened to her bright, eager little boy.

Henry shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat so Belle turned to him. He was wearing a light gray suit and a red tie, a white shirt with black pinstripes. Since his role as The Author didn't pay, (he always joked,) he'd started working again at Gold's Pawnshop. Which meant he had to wear a suit, which was Rumple's only real rule besides _"don't sniff anything in an unmarked jar, you may turn into an invertebrate"._ That was one of his few firm rules Belle didn't defy back when she was just his maid instead of his estranged wife.

"Look, don't be too hard on him, alright?" Henry squirmed. "He's been having a hard time this year in school-"

"I know, I know, I just-"

"No, Belle, I don't think you do," Henry cut her off, looking concerned. "All year he's been the school punching bag. Okay? Even when he's minding his own business. When he got accused of skipping school last week? He was down at Granny's trying to buy a sandwich because someone threw his in the trashcan and poured milk all over it. Do you know what he and Neal were fighting over? You."

"Me? Why?"

"Belle, you have to know that, as much as I love all of my family, Neal is a spoiled brat," Henry said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "And a very impressionable one. He's convinced Gold is evil, and that by extension, so is Oliver."

Neal Nolan had been the town darling since the moment he was born. (Well... once he was recovered from Zelena, anyway.) The son of Snow White and Prince Charming, a product of True Love, future town leader. Belle had been his on-and-off again babysitter until he was about five or so, which was for the best because Neal and Oliver had never gotten on, even as babies. Whenever Neal and Oliver got in trouble, the Charmings were quick to say that "boys will be boys" and Belle tried to instruct Oliver to just ignore him, to not let him get under his skin.

Maybe she should've been telling Neal to stop bothering him instead...

"Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" Belle asked, and Henry shrugged.

"I thought he told you."

Belle glanced upwards, sighing. "Well, I'll...talk to him. Thank you, Henry, for looking out for him."

"Hey," Henry smiled. "Anything for my favorite uncle."

He left soon after, and Belle slowly made her way upstairs. She stopped outside the door and closed her eyes, wishing, not for the first time, that Rumpelstiltskin was here and she hadn't been so bloody stubborn. When she finally walked into her apartment, she found Oliver sitting at the kitchen table with his homework. She watched him for a moment, remembering a time when she and Rumple had imagined having a family together. She'd always suspected he'd be terribly soft and doting, leaving her to be the firm parent, but together they could tackle just about any problem a child presented them with.

She wished she could use that time-travel spell, go back in time, and slap herself across the face and say, "He's gonna make a lot of mistakes, but he's going to try so hard too, _do not_ give up on him!"

Only...she _had_.

And then, after ten long years and one final mistake, he gave up on her too. Three months ago. She had tried to get him to try and work something out, for Oliver's sake, but he'd all but slammed the door shut in her face. Not that she could blame him for that. But Rumpelstiltskin _always_ fought for his child...

"Am I grounded now?"

Oliver was looking at her with a blank face. Belle wondered where he learned to do that.

"Not if you tell me what Neal did."

"Why? He's not gonna be punished for it and you're just gonna tell me to ignore him. Again."

Belle frowned, sitting across from him at the table and folding her hands. "Oliver. Henry says the other kids are picking on you at school. Is that true?" She wasn't expecting an answer, and she didn't get one either. "Sweetheart, I'm _worried_ about you. You're not yourself lately and I can't help you if you don't talk to me. I thought it would help you to see your father again-"

"You already told him to stay away," Oliver muttered, not looking up from his math homework. " _Again_."

It was on the tip of Belle's tongue to snap at him, reaching the end of her rope. But something about his words didn't compute and she blurted out, "What?"

Finally, Oliver looked up at her, stubborn blue eyes meeting her confused blue eyes. He looked too much like Rumple, the last time they really talked, and something twisted uncomfortably in her chest at that. She focused on the paleness of her son's skin, that purple bruise on his cheek. The blue in his eyes. _Anything different_.

"I went to see Papa yesterday and he said I couldn't visit today. You can't keep taking me away from him, Mama, it's not fair!"

"Wait, wait, Oliver," Belle's frown deepened. "I didn't tell him to stay away from you, the last time we talked was when I dropped off your raincoat at the house last week."

Now her son looked confused, leaning back in the kitchen chair. "What did you say to him?"

Normally, Belle might be offended by how her son's phrasing, but she was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. All she'd said to Rumple was something like, _"Hi. Here's Oliver's raincoat, very dreary weather we're having isn't it? It is January though, so, I should be going. Goodbye."_

Ever since he missed her giving birth, (she was too busy screaming as a new life pushed out of her lower extremities, and everyone decided having him there would stress her out more, and god she hadn't forgiven them for that,) Rumple had cherished ever second spent with Oliver. To the point where, especially now, Belle felt guilty for permitting him such a small part of Oliver's childhood. Nothing but her decree could keep Rumpelstiltskin away, and he would never turn away Oliver. Ever.

"I'm going to call your father," Belle murmured said, getting up and walking to the phone with increasingly fast steps. "Wait right here..."

* * *

Henry had been walking up the driveway of the "salmon-colored" Victorian when Belle called. He stopped and decided to check the mailbox as she asked, _"Henry?"_

It wasn't "asking" like a question. It was a frantic sort of tone coloring Belle's voice, the kind that raised the hairs on the back of your neck and Henry wasn't nearly so interested in if they had mail or not. Every woman he knew had a tone like that, one he would identify as a Mom Voice that usually applied to their children, but also extended to anyone in their family in friends during a crisis. Something was wrong.

"Is everything alright Belle?"

_"Henry, where are you right now? Are you at the house?"_

"Uh, yeah, I'm in the driveway," Henry glanced up at the house. Something cold and hard was sinking in his stomach. Belle hadn't been in sight of the house for months, not since-

 _"Rumple isn't answering the phone and I think something's wrong."_ Belle said, sounding very, very worried and Henry started for the house. _"Oliver said he couldn't sleep over tonight because Rumple said so. That's not right at all, Henry, and he won't answer the home phone or his cellphone, I'm worried."_

Henry skipped up the steps in two big steps, reaching for the door. It was unlocked.

"Okay, Belle, I'm headed inside now."

Belle said nothing, and Henry felt that creepy-crawly feeling get worse. Something was very, _very_ wrong here. He intended to check upstairs first but he'd had to pass through the living room--

That's where he found his grandfather.

 _"Henry?"_ Belle's voice was thin on the other end of the line. _"Henry, what's going on?"_

"Call 911," he swallowed. "Belle, call 911. Get an ambulance down here, _now_. Call 911!"

Mr. Gold, the Beast of Storybrooke, lay slumped over on the sofa. He was dressed in his usual black suit, a navy blue shirt underneath and a dark tie. His face was pale and he didn't move when Henry dashed around to the side of the sofa, tossing his phone aside and grabbing for the man's pulse. It was so weak, for a moment, Henry didn't think he had one at all. Oh god, oh god, what happened? His grandfather looked the same as when Henry had left that morning to open the shop.

It was only ten minutes for one of the two ambulances in Storybrooke to come screaming down the street. Maybe twelve. It felt like hours though, hours Henry had been kneeling by his unconscious grandfather's side, wondering what the hell had happened and if Gold was gonna die now.

It was when Henry stood up from where he was kneeling that he noticed something he hadn't before on the end table...

A prescription bottle.

An _empty_ prescription bottle.

_Oh shit._

* * *

His mother was upset.

Oliver was very good at being quiet and watching people. He'd always been good at it, but he'd perfected the technique this year when everyone decided to make his life a living hell. If he sat quietly and looked busy, no one paid him any mind.

However, he could be juggling chainsaws on the kitchen table right now and he didn't think Mama would notice at all. She was pacing and twisting her fingers in front of her, gnawing on her lip and there was that little crease between her brows that only showed up when she was really, really, really nervous about something. Or everything. She had walked off to talk Papa, and then went outside the apartment, and when she came back she was like _this_.

Her phone rang and Mama jumped to answer it, Oliver putting down **8x5=40** on his math homework. Fives were easy to multiply, so were the tens, the twos, ones, and zeroes. Zeroes were super easy because they always equalled zero. Ten billion and one times zero? Always zero. Nice and reliable. People underestimated the power of a zero.

"Rumple what?!" Mama gasped, and Oliver couldn't help but look up at her this time.

Mama had turned white and Oliver dropped his pencil to run over to her side. She swayed on her feet like she was going to faint, then her wide eyes turned on Oliver and she looked like she was _really_ going to fall out. What was he supposed to do if she fainted? Probably catch her, uh, wasn't there something about lifting the legs up over your head to get the blood flowing to your head?

Then Mama turned around and muttered something Oliver couldn't quite catch. He made out _"on purpose"_ and _"going to be okay"_ and an _"come get me"_ that was spoken loud enough for him to hear. Then his mother turned around and squeezed the phone in her hands, looking at him as he stared back at her.

"Oliver," her voice was thin. "Baby..."

Oh no...

"Your papa's...going to the hospital. I-I need to go see him, can you stay with your grandfather for a lit-No," she corrected herself, thinking better of it. "Can you stay with Garrick, for a little while? I think you'll have to stay the night, I-I'm not sure what else to tell you. H-hurry up and get packed."

His father was in the hospital.

And it was bad.

He knew it was bad because Mama definitely didn't want to be around Moe, and definitely didn't want to leave Oliver with him.

Moe had this nasty habit of griping about Papa and saying "I told you so" to every little problem Mama had. Granny had said that Moe had tried to convince Belle to move in with him and give up Oliver to the fairies to raise, but even as a toddler, before knowing that, Oliver never liked his grandfather. He always tried to get Oliver to stop reading and go play with Neal Nolan. He insisted that if Oliver played more "rough and tumble" games with the other boys, they wouldn't pick on him. And that was when he deigned to acknowledge him.

But Moe was unimportant right now, there was only one real question on Oliver's mind: "Is Papa going to be okay?"

His mother bit her lip again. There was such a long pause Oliver was afraid of the answer, and then she'd passed a hand over his hair, to sweep it off his forehead in the way she'd always done when one of them was upset.

"I don't know, baby. I just don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've not given a name to which antidepressant exactly is used here because, apparently, but I've researched enough variations of "how much is an overdose of" and "suicide by" that Google might be watching me now. :/ Sooo attempted suicide warnings still, other than that, read on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 4/10/'17 FOR TIMELINE INCONSISTENCIES

Oliver wasn't in a very good mood when he woke up, needless to say.

The night before, he and Garrick made up a pillow and blanket fort in his room and played checkers until Garrick started yawning and he crawled into bed while Oliver slept in their fort. Well, he dozed, and spent the rest of the time looking at the plaid pattern on the sheet that made up the walls and ceiling of their fort. He was awake by when it was light out the windows and Garrick poked his head inside, his wavy blonde hair sticking up in all directions.

"Hey Oliver," Garrick whispered. "Are you awake yet?"

"No."

"Oh, alright. Then can I eat your cinammon roll? My mom brought home a box from the bakery, and if I don't have to share-"

"Oh no you don't!" Oliver threw a pillow at him, finding it easier to smile when a mini-pillow fight broke out until Garrick's mom poked her head into the room, and told them to stop horsing around and come eat their breakfast before it got cold.

Garrick looked like his mom, Tinker Bell, with her blonde hair and brown eyes, though Garrick had a splash of freckles across his face. He was younger than Oliver by about nine months, so he wasn't quite nine yet, but was still taller. (Of course he was...) His mother, "Tink" was nice, she sounded a bit like Oliver's mama, though she was a fairy. She'd come from Neverland and took up a job at The Rabbit Hole later on. The father was "out of the picture", though Tink and Garrick had moved in with Garrick's grandfather, Marco.

August, (or Pinocchio,) Garrick's dad, hadn't been married to Tink, ever. Oliver heard he tried to be a dad, but ultimately he took off out of town on his motorcycle when Garrick was three months old, sometime in June. He also heard there was a lot of debate about fairy pregnancies at the time since for awhile, both Opal's mom and Tink had both been pregnant. 

Sometimes August called. Sometimes he sent pictures of where he was. He had published two books in a series based off of the happenings in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest titled _Ever After: The Storybook Town_ , that didn't really appeal to Oliver, and sometimes he wired money now and then. But Garrick couldn't really care because how could he care about someone who was never there to start with?

Papa had given Tink and Garrick a nice apartment at a low price before they'd moved in with Marco when he had a bad fall. Even though everyone in town hated his father, Oliver knew Papa had a soft spot for struggling parents and liked kids. And hated bad parents. If August ever did return, he'd be lucky Papa didn't bash his head in.

Consequently, Tink and Papa were on good terms, and Garrick liked hanging out at Papa's house when Oliver was staying there. It was always nice to meet adults who didn't treat Oliver with guarded caution or look at him like he was going to spit acid on them, and if there were hot cinnamon rolls and cream cheese icing involved, so much the better.

Kids were worse than adults, though, because Oliver had to go to school with them. Garrick and Opal were his best friends, three freaks of nature, the son of a puppet and a fairy, the daughter of a fairy and a dwarf, and the son of the Dark One. But sometimes Robbi Mills played with them when she wasn't being snobby, and Cleo Jones liked to eat lunch with them, but she was only in the second grade. Ruth Nolan could be nice, but she always sided with her brother, Neal, and the less said about Neal, so much the better on _that_ topic.

Oliver unrolled the spiral of his bun while Garrick took messy bites, ending up with icing and cinnamon all over his face. It cheered Oliver up a little bit, but he felt jittery and figured the sugar didn't help that, and by the time he got dressed in a black-and-white checked shirt and jeans, and washed his face and brushed his teeth, he wondered if Tink would let him call Mama at the hospital. Or Henry, maybe.

In the end, once Oliver got downstairs to ask, he found Henry down there already. It didn't look like he had slept, and he was wearing his suit from yesterday, rumpled with the tie and coat missing.

"Is Papa dead?" Oliver blurted out, squeezing the stair banister tightly. His palms were sweating. His grip was slippery, he really didn't think he could stay upright if the answer was yes. He wasn't sure what he would do, actually.

"No, no, he's alive," Henry shook his head quickly, coming over to the stairs. His eyes were red and his face was pale, he needed a shave, and Oliver just wanted to know what happened _now_. "He...come on, we need to talk outside."

Nothing good ever came from someone saying "we need to talk", did it?

* * *

Regina had called Henry's phone a half dozen times since the previous afternoon when an ambulance barrelled down the road towards Gold's house. It was probably nothing, she told herself, but when it whizzed back and Henry drove to the library in Gold's Caddy...well it wasn't nothing then, was it? Henry had yet to answer her, and so that was why she'd stormed into the emergency room at seven in the morning asking if her son was a patient there.

No, the nurse said, but Henry had come in yesterday with Belle...and Gold.

Regina went over to the ICU where Gold was hooked up to all the equpiment that sustained David Nolan under the curse, plus some other machinery. A plastic breathing tube was stuck in his nose and monitors were hooked up to one arm and an IV in the other, there was a machine that ticked and a machine that beeped and one that went bing and she didn't know what any of them did.

Lying in the actual bed in a pale bluish-white gown was Gold, looking pale against the white sheets and pillows, dark circles under his eyes and his hair short. (She supposed she'd never quite get used to it looking that way.) It had been gray since he last returned to Storybrooke with Belle, before Oliver had been born, but Regina couldn't say she remembered so many wrinkles in Gold's face, or him looking so gaunt, almost as thin as he'd been under the curse but...waxier.

He looked like he should be dead.

Surprisingly, curled up in a chair by the bed looking like he had in fact kicked the bucket, was Belle. Regina stood in the door staring at them for a long time, and at how strung out Belle looked, before she cleared her throat.

"Ahem, so...um...what....happened?"

Belle turned to Regina, then turned back to her estranged husband.

"An overdose on antidepressants. Did you know he took those?"

"No..." Antidepressants? Gold had never acted like somebody medicated, and Regina never thought of him as being _depressed_... "Was it-"

"An attempted suicide," Belle answered in that flat monotone as before. "He took a whole bottle of little pills. Henry's blaming himself right now because he picked up the prescription yesterday. Well, the day _before_ I guess. Why're you here?"

"I was, uh, I was looking for Henry. I thought he was in the hospital, he wasn't answering the phone."

"Mm."

Regina edged further into the room, until she stood by the bed. Up close, if possible, Gold looked worse. She tried to remember the last time she'd been face-to-face with her old mentor and came up short. It must've been...oh. When she apologized, and he looked like she'd tried to poison him. To be fair, that was...not inaccurate, she supposed.

Eight months ago, mysterious villainous things started happening in Storybrooke for the first time in years. At the time everyone had more or less found their happy endings. Snow and Charming had two more kids, another boy and a girl. Emma and Hook got married almost as soon as Hyde was gone and now Emma was torn between trying to keep everything at home together and patch things up with Henry after he stormed out and moved in with Gold. Regina was practically raising Robbi, Robin's little girl, because Zelena wasn't sure how to handle her once she became independant at around age five and didn't want to cling to _mummy_ anymore, in addition to managing the town and having won the first Storybrooke election in...ever, continuing her tenure as mayor. They'd all been too busy with domestics to really notice until the remaining citizens of Camelot pointed out that one of theirs, somewhat of an outcast because he was creepy as all hell, was being creepier than usual.

Then _the Black Cauldron_ was activated in the middle of the graveyard and the dead rose to attack in a thick fog of green, acrid-smelling smoke. Five were dead, twelve hospitalized, and an additional two died from injuries, by the time Emma and her father and Hook made it to the cemetary, they found Gold limping near the Cauldron, apparently powerless as the dead falling back as inanimate corpses wherever they'd been standing. Gold had been flung into the asylum and locked up faster than you could say, _"Guilty before proven innocent."_

It took three days and testimony from Henry on Gold's behalf, Maleficent to prove the veractiy of Gold's claims, and the caretaker who insisted a woman had activated the cauldron but he had been too scared by the rising dead to mention anything until now.

They'd still subjected Gold to a dream-catcher test and a heart check, and at that point, he'd have been within his rights to turn them all into snails. If he'd still had magic...

Gold was a mortal man now; He saved the entire town but the unfortunate seven citizens by channelling all his darkness and the full power of the curse into the Cauldron in place of a human sacrifice. It worked, they were saved, and Regina felt such gnawing guilt over how they had treated him that she, who _hated_ apologizing, had apologized at least three separate times in eight months. Snow and Charming had been more willing to forgo and forget, giving perhaps one ham-fisted apology when they released Gold from the cell under the hospital. Emma had said nothing, Hook said he didn't doubt Gold still had a hand in it, and Belle...

"Why are you here?" Regina asked.

Belle curled imperceptibly further in on herself. "Oliver said something that was odd about Rumple, and he didn't answer his phone. Henry found him on the sofa and I called the ambulance."

"Aren't you permanently on the outs?"

"That's what he said. I...I don't know _what_ to do."

Regina took the other chair in the room, nodding silently. The bookworm and Gold had never really gotten their shot at a happy ending, at least not a fair one. Their reconcilation after Hyde had been thwarted by Killian "Big Mouthed Jackass" Jones bringing up how Gold stole all the magic in Storybrooke and threatened Henry and Violet in New York. (In hindsight, Regina knew Gold wouldn't lay a finger on Henry...and that when _he_ threatened, something worse than a short-term sleeping spell happened.) But that was enough for Belle and it sparked their ugly pattern of _make-up, break-off_ that followed for the past ten years.

Belle had forbidden Gold from seeing Oliver when everyone assumed he'd started the Black Cauldron. It was only three months ago that Belle went over to try and patch things up...Henry said that Gold had just given up and he was through. No divorce papers were drafted yet but Moe French had started pointing suitors towards Belle and crowed about his daughter's eligibility.

It almost made Regina wish she'd conquored his lands and ripped out his heart in the old world.

"So what are you going to do with Oliver?"

"I...don't know...I-I just can't talk to him right now, I mean," Belle shook her head. "I love him so much but he's just...he doesn't want to listen to me when I talk to him. I guess I should probably take him to see Archie, he's...he's not gonna handle this well. He blames me when I keep him away from Rumple and he's having a bad time in school, and he doesn't tell me anything...oh gods he's _so much_ like Rumple..."

Belle sniffled, rubbing the heel of her palm in her eyes. "I don't know why he did this. I know he wasn't happy but he wasn't...he didn't _act_ like there was something wrong!"

Regina pursed her lips, deciding on the political route when several snarky replies cropped up on the tip of her tongue.

"When has Rumple ever let on when he was hurt? To him, to be vulnerable is weakness, and he detests weakness in himself. You saw how Pan worked, is it any wonder where he got that mentality from?"

Belle let her head fall on her knees with a shaky sigh.

"I just want him to be happy. He's been through enough, I just...I just want him to be happy."

* * *

Henry had driven Oliver out to the ridge overlooking Storybrooke that was designated as "lover's lane" in the nighttime. In the day, it was just the ridge that overlooked Storybrooke, and no one would interrupt them here.

He really didn't want to have to explain the concept of suicide more than once to his 9-year-old uncle.

Oliver had turned pale as they drove in silence, that bruise on his face seeming darker. When they stopped, the boy's eyes were huge and Henry had to close his eyes to spit out the words:

"Your father...tried to...to kill himself. He took a full bottle of one of his pills and he overdosed, but we got him to the hospital in time that he'll be okay. Physically. He's going to have to go back to seeing Dr. Hopper more often to help us learn why he did this, and maybe get off those pills he took, I dunno, but-"

"P-Papa tried to-" Oliver blinked, frowning. "Why would he- _You're lying_!"

Henry kept his eyes shut, squeezing the steering wheel. "I wish I was, but I'm not, I'm sorry-"

" _You're_ _sorry?_ No, you don't understand! If Papa dies, who am I left with? I've got you, sure, but then I'm left stuck with Mama and her dumbass father who hates me!" he snapped, tears welling up in his blue eyes. "You know what it's like to hear Moe say he wishes Mama never had me? You know what it's like when Mama tells me _he_ loves me, and hear _him_ say something is wrong with me, and that's why people _hate_ me? I'm not family to him, I'm a mistake! Does Papa think I'm a mistake too, is that why he tried to kill himself?"

Henry shut off the car and reached across the bench seat when Oliver started unbuckling, but got tangled in the seatbelt. He started for the door as soon as he got free but Henry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him across the seat in a bear-hug that his wiry little uncle struggled fiercely against.

"Let me go!"

"Oliver where do you think we're going?"

"I don't know! Not here!"

"It's too late Oliver! It's happened, alright? It happened, but Grandpa is still alive, so it isn't over! Your mom is down there with him right now, and-"

"So what? She hates him!"

"I don't care! That doesn't matter right now, you need to stop fighting and just listen to me for a minute!"

"No!"

"Oliver Gold, if you don't listen to me, I swear to god I sit on you and _make_ you listen!"

Oliver was stubborn and upset, but he was still pretty puny, and he eventually tired himself out. Henry, on his part, was just glad he didn't have a hand near his uncle's mouth. He didn't doubt he'd bite. But then, any anger Henry might feel melted when Oliver curled up against his chest with a whimper and went from clawing away to clinging tightly.

"Is it my fault?" he asked in a tiny voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

Henry held him tighter, resting his chin on top of his head as tears dampened the front of his shirt. "No, no you're just a kid Oliver, this isn't your fault. We'll just...have to wait and see what happens."

"Can...I see him? In the hospital?"

"Your dad's not awake right now."

"Can I still see him?"

"I...I guess so. Lemme just call Garrick's house so they know we aren't coming back right now, okay?"

"'Kay."

Henry climbed out the car and walked a little ways away, dialing Belle's cellphone. She picked up, her voice thin. _"Henry?"_

"Hey, Belle, um...Oliver wants to come see Grandpa."

_"I...I'm not sure that's a good idea-"_

"Damn it Belle!" Henry hissed shortly. "You kept _them_ apart for five months because _you_ were upset, don't do this right now!"

He thought Belle had hung up, and Henry hadn't really meant to say that. He was less sure he hadn't meant those words though. Maybe he should start seeing Archie again too. His family had always preached about the importance of family and heroism, but nobody ever spoke about how to preserve your sanity by backing away now and then.

 _"How much did you tell him?"_ Belle finally asked.

"Everything, pretty much. The pills, the suicide, the coma. He wants to see him."

 _"O-okay. Okay,"_ Belle repeated herself, stronger. A little. _"As long as he knows, I suppose it couldn't...hurt. How did he, uh, is he okay?"_

Hmm...well...

"He's upset...and I think he thinks Grandpa is still going to die. He just doesn't want to..." be left alone with Moe and, for some reason, you. "...lose his dad. You know?"

Silence again.

_"You can bring him along Henry, whenever he's ready. Oh, and your mum's here, Regina, that is. She insisted on getting me a coffee, you should probably call her if she leaves before you get here. She thought you were in the hospital."_

Henry had seen the list of messages on his phone and didn't want to answer any of them. Some were from Regina, a few from Emma, two from his other grandparents' number, and one from Violet. He'd only answered that one with a short, _'I'll call you later'_ text. Mostly because Violet was the only one who wouldn't irritate him with sudden compassion for a long-scorned, shunned relative, and wasn't married to an asshole with a hook.

"Alright, I will," he agreed. "We're on our way, tell Mom, if you mind?"

_"I will. Tell Oliver that I love him?"_

"I will. Bye Belle."

Returning to the car, Oliver was sitting there picking at the buttons on his shirt cuff. His nose and eyes were red and he looked too small and quiet to have been the same boy that was kicking and shouting a few minutes ago. Sometimes Henry worried about him, and he wasn't kidding when he called Oliver his favorite uncle. He reminded Henry a little bit of another lonesome kid that hadn't been very popular because he was different. The only difference was that instead of a curse and an adoption keeping him apart from his family, Oliver had two parents that never talked to each other, an overbearding grandfather, and plenty of sort-of-relatives that were polite on a good day and ignorant on a bad one.

"Ready to go?"

Oliver nodded.

Henry ruffled his hair and Oliver had enough spark left to look affronted, smoothing his light brown hair down before buckling up and prodding Henry in the ribs with a stuck-out tongue.

There was hope for Oliver.

Maybe there was hope for Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Belle stuff in the next chapter, in which the full backstory will be explored on her side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My theory has always been, at least since the Snow Queen, that he's so desperate to keep Belle by his side that he hides anything remotely questionable, and so when Belle finds out naturally she gets mad and walks off, which enforces his idea that he has to hide things if he wants her to stay. They're just two idiots that need to be locked in a room until they learn to communicate. This isn't intended to be either anti-Belle or anti-Rumple.

It didn't feel real yet.

Even with her estranged husband lying comatose in the hospital bed in front of her, it was more like a horrible dream than reality. Which it was, _real_ that is, and as soon as Henry arrived with Oliver...

It was never supposed to turn out like this.

There was no way Belle could ever truly cut Rumple out of her life: She had tried it after she'd thrown him over the town line and felt so desperately alone. And then she'd felt... _cheap_ , for letting things go as far with Will as they had when it meant nothing to her, and meant nothing to him, as lovesick as he was still over his Ana. A rebound relationship. And yet, Rumple brought back her heart and kept encouraging her to move on from him.

He'd done that when they remained separated after Oliver's birth, encouraged her to see other people since they were separated. He always said that if she did find someone else, he'd gladly step aside for her.

That had never made Belle feel better though.

It was also impossible for Belle to date another man, though not for lack of trying. Too tall, too big, too stupid, too self-absorbed, too nice to be a lover, too pushy; No one was right and it made her more miserable than anything. Her father always inisisted she get out there though, and since their relationship was more or less stable thesedays, she felt obligated to try once or twice a year to humor him. She'd even slept with two, and felt numb over it, because it just felt wrong. But it never worked out, neither with a different suitor, or with Rumple.

They'd tried, oh, they had tried though. As soon as he woke her up and they went back to Storybrooke, Rumple had tried to turn the Darkness into light, to be a model sorcerer. He'd help beat the Evil Queen and Hyde, although with two separate results. Killing the "worse half" would be the same as suicide, killing both of them, so Regina had absorbed the Evil Queen again...while Jekyll, a far weaker person, just took a gun from the sheriff's station and blown his brains out. Belle couldn't fault Rumple for that because he'd done all she told him to do and she'd been so proud of him when he hadn't killed anyone rescuing her from Zelena's clutches at the time.

Then Killian brought up how Belle ended up in the Land of Untold Stories to begin with: Rumple stole Storybrooke's magic and ran to New York, somehow he'd lost Pandora's Box and he'd had to make a deal with Hyde to not only get her back, but to wake her up.

Belle packed up and moved into Granny's without another word, too furious to speak.

She'd gone into labor, alone, six months later on the floor of the library and by the time Astrid, who was working part-time and was newly pregnant herself, found her, the ambulance had to be rushed down and she was whisked to Storybrooke General hospital with a nervous fairy riding alongside her. Granny had, purportedly, attempted to get into the delivery room so Belle wouldn't be alone, but alone Belle was. She remembered thinking at the time that she really should've been keeping Rumple updated, because she'd felt certain as her pains grew worse that she was going to die there in the bed.

Then he didn't arrive until two days after,- _in which Belle had pushed a 6.2 pound person covered in blood out of her vagina while the staff scurrying around her had brought up words like "breech birth" and "possible C-section" that scared the shit out of her_ ,-looking incredibly scared and unsure if she wanted him to be there. No one had called him until Henry did, because they thought it would stress her out _more_ to have him there, holding her hand and reassuring her that she was not going to be split in half like she had desperately wanted him to be.

Belle was mad about that, but decided to be the bigger person because how were _they_ supposed to know different, she thought? She let Rumple hold their baby, and it occured to her that they'd never spoken about names other than the impersonal "Gold" stamped on his tiny plastic wristband.

(Yes, _Gold_ , not _French_ , because at that point her father had first tried to convince her to terminate the baby, and then give "it" up to the fairies to purify of darkness. When he found out it was going to be a boy, remarkably, he changed his tune and had tried to make up for a lot his mistakes, which was why she had been considering "Maurice" as an option, but decided it was a better middle name than first.)

"Oliver." Rumple said, smiling distractedly down at his squirmy son in his little yellow blanket and blue bobble hat. "How does that sound?"

Beautiful, Belle had thought. That happy little moment of all three of them together, at peace, only lasted until she opened her mouth and said: "Rumple, I love you so much, and I know you'll make a wonderful father. But I can't raise Oliver around dark magic. Don't ask me to."

In hindsight, Belle had been more than a little unreasonable during her pregnancy. Before she was kidnapped, when she was still just mad that he'd woken her without True Love's Kiss, Belle had tried to hide from him. Which was stupid on its own as Rumple always gave her space when she asked for it, but to go and seek shelter from Killian aboard the Jolly Roger? That was just cruel. And aggravated her morning sickness, though she could never tell if that was her own upset or her changing body.

Rumpelstiltskin had looked at her with a blank face, given Oliver a cuddle when he began to fuss that soothed the baby as he was handed back to Belle.

"Am I to never see our child because of the curse, Belle?" he'd asked, as blank as his expression.

"No, but I could never truly trust you. Are you really asking me this Rumple?" her eyes had filled with tears. "Are you really weighing the pros and cons of giving up your power for your family, versus doing the right thing here?"

"Who decides what's right or wrong here, then? You? Belle, if you are so determined to raise Oliver away from my power, then I'll have the library apartment fixed up and you can stay there. If you just don't want him near me? Well that's your hard luck, dearie, because I will not have this child used against me as blackmail."

That wasn't what Belle wanted at all and the frustration-not anger, never anger,-growing in his eyes only made her, in turn, angry.

"How can you be so selfish!"

"I'm not being selfish, I'm being practical!" he hissed. "In the time you were pregnant, you were sucked down to the Underworld, you and our child were threatened, you put yourself under a sleeping curse to fight for him, and when we arrived back in Storybrooke you were taken as a hostage with a knife held to your belly by Zelena herself, you really, really think that my being powerless is the right thing to do? Do you think that Zelena should keep her powers when she's done nothing but hurt and make us suffer?"

"She's changed, but you haven't!"

Those were, in the many times Belle replayed the conversation, the exact _wrong_ words to say, and like he agreed, Oliver sent up a shrieking wail that made everything worse.

Rumple stood up and tugged on his coat, his face stony.

"There's custody laws in this land regarding children who's parents no longer wish to be together. I suggest we come to an agreement then."

His eyes flickered, probably just as Belle's had a moment ago when she realized that was the wrong thing to say, and Belle coldly told him to leave. The library apartment was fixed up, and she'd dug up some books on family law to prepare herself to meet Rumpelstiltskin's demands. She doubted a judge would want to get involved in their "case" but even so, she'd prepared herself for a bigger fight than when he brought her a contract written out on a yellow legal pad outlining his proposal: He would spend approximately two days, Friday and Saturday, with Oliver in his shop during the day, and after five Belle could come and collect him. Belle stipulated that no magic could be performed during those periods and that someone had to be present at all times, which was amendable, and they both agreed the terms should be renegotiated as Oliver grew older, around three or four.

What should have been a happy (though exhausting,) time in their lives as a family turned into a clinical arrangement, and Belle couldn't say whose fault it had been.

There were attemps at reconciling, made often when Oliver was small enough that he hadn't really noticed the constant cycle his parents went through every couple of weeks or months, depending on what had happened. But it usually ended, because either Rumple was experimenting with magic again, or something he hadn't told her about surfaced, or...he just did something she disagreed with

It was childish of Belle, she would admit, that she had used anything from his refusing to help the heroes during a spot of trouble to arguing with her father to break things off again. But she just couldn't trust Rumple anymore, she didn't know who he was to her anymore other than the man she shared Oliver with. No. Not childish. _Spiteful._

She wanted Rumple to admit that his dark power was the problem in their failing marriage. She wasn't sure when she fixated on that idea, or if it had always been there since their first, disastrous kiss, but there it was. And whenever Rumple tried to point out other flaws, his go-to topic being her _"desperation to please others and her hero-worship always coming back to hurt them because she couldn't be less than perfect_ ", as he'd worded in one argument, she didn't want to admit that.

Because if it was true that they had more problems than she thought, then did they even belong together in the first place?

The new terms made when Oliver turned four were the current ones: Oliver could spend all of Friday and Saturday with Gold, every week, sleeping over Friday and Belle would pick him up after dinner and a bath on Saturday.

Oliver had been delighted with this arrangement and while at the time it had spurred Belle into making another doomed attempt at fixing things, it always made her feel a little hurt. She didn't know if it was some subliminal mother's concern that their son might love Rumple more than her, or the more logical fact that the boy wanted to see his papa so much that this little slice of a life with him was as exciting as Christmas Day...because he never got to spend time with just Rumple before.

It was probably the latter, for all Snow had tried to convince her it was the mother's concern since their second daughter Ruth was decidedly a daddy's girl.

Another thing Belle didn't want to admit was that the heroes of Storybrooke did not make her complicated life any easier. And that, perhaps, Rumple was right, _to a degree,_ that she was a little too eager to please them if they were really friends. Friends didn't need to constantly prove themselves, did they? She jumped at the chance to help them translate a lost text or dig up a forgotten gem of information pertaining to a problem, but they had never so much as offered to babysit Oliver when she had a cold. Perhaps she should have asked, but Rumple would insist (as he took Oliver to go stay with a friend so she could rest,) that she shouldn't have to.

Three years ago, Belle had really thought that she and Rumple had finally been on the same page. They'd circled each other for the better part of a year as "just friends", (who had exchanged a few chaste kisses and occasionally ate supper together, just the two of them,) before Rumple tentatively broached the subject of dinner, at his, if she'd like? Which she agreed to, letting Oliver have a sleepover somewhere else.

Rumple had picked her up at the library and gave her a rose, which she put in a vase before they left for his house. They had dinner and just enough wine that things went soft and warm, and Belle had kissed him first. They'd gotten to his bed and started shucking off clothing before she reached into the drawer for a condom--and found a spell book. The year had been underscored by his vow that he hadn't used magic in that whole period and suddenly, Belle felt like she was wearing the gauntlet and had been led to the dagger, his real love, power, all over again.

She'd stormed out, gone home, and threw away the rose and cried until she ran out of tears. That was the last time, she promised herself, after that, there would be no more "fixing things", if they could be friends, that would be all. Friends and parents to Oliver. That was all she could take rather than another betrayal.

Her resolve was sorely tested by Rumple, as always. Not that he ever tried to pin her against the library shelves and ravish her. (Though if he did...no, none of that!) What he did was timidly approach her, ask her little things about her day, smile awkwardly, sometimes bring her lunch on Saturday with Oliver in tow. That was unfair to their son because he was jerked back and forth enough without adding a false hope of his parents reuniting. It would be so much easier to scold her husband, though, if he weren't staying well within his boundaries and taking steps to better himself for himself. He started seeing Dr. Hopper and there was something _light_ about him in the past few months...before the Cauldron, at least.

Belle regretted, now, her resolve to be so distant from her estranged husband. If she thought she'd lost sight of who Rumple was before, she had no clue now: His therapy sessions were mainly about dealing with his mortal lifetime of neglect, abandonment, and abuses that had given him that omnipresent anxiety and feeling of unworthiness. (She hadn't ask, the information was either volunteered or overheard.) If she'd been thinking with her head, they would've gone to counciling as soon as Zelena was "dead" rather than get married right then. Archie was practically a saint, a friend to anyone and always a sympathetic ear to listen to a person's troubles, and neutral advice that was neither coddling nor condemning.

It would have not only helped them immensely, but it probably would've done Zelena some good too...though Belle doubted that.

In hindsight, Zelena had never changed _herself_ so much as she changed _sides_. She was willing to help them in Camelot so long as she got what she wanted, but then she turned instantly once Arthur got the upper hand, and then was back on their side for a time in the Underworld because she was terrified of being a mother, but switched to being Hades' lady once she got her hands on her daughter, which was why she was the surviving parent and Robin was not, something that struck Belle as unfair, especially considering how the child had been conceived in so vile a fashion that it was essentially Zelena raping him.

That Regina, who was usually so level-headed about things and had needed to fight tooth and nail for redemption, was so lax with her sister was even more surprising. Once Robbi (a nickname no one could remember how it was started, but stuck,) was sleeping through the night, Zelena up and moved back to the farmhouse she'd lived in when she arrived in Storybrooke. No one complained, and if they had, Regina and the Charming clan had smoothed all the necessary feathers.

There was only one area in which Regina was anything remotely firm, and that was Robbi herself. The poor child had was completely isolated in the farmhouse and when it was time for her to start kindergarten, it was made known that Zelena was why: _She_ absolutely _refused_ , claiming that she could teach Robbi everything she needed to know at home. Belle could understand being nervous, but to refuse that your child should go to school outright? Regina was of the same mind and had reasoned and wheedled for Zelena to let the girl go, which she grumblingly did.

Robbi was a good girl, but she had absolutely no experience in socializing. She had a tentative friendship with the Nolans because she and Zelena were invited to Charming family gatherings, (from which Rumple was always absent when Belle and Oliver went...) but to everyone else she came across as standoffish and rude. When classes came to the library she sat by herself in a corner, sulking, and Belle would usually go over and introduce her to a book. The Secret Garden was Robbi's favorite, which was rather ironic as it focused on a wealthy little girl, who's parents never let her have a say, and her journey to becoming a healthy, active child.

Zelena was possessive of her daughter in a way that worried Regina, who'd mentioned to Belle it was how Cora had always acted with her. Only rather than being heartless and angling to make Robbi a queen, Zelena just seemed to be clinging to her like it would make up for her own lingering issues with Cora. When Zelena pulled Robbi out of school after she caught a case of chicken pox, Regina had firmly put her foot down and arranged for counselling for Robbi and Zelena both.

Belle didn't connect this to the Black Cauldron until much later. Too late for Rumple, in her case.

As the Cauldron-Born filled the street that sunny Wednesday afternoon, Belle had pulled Oliver, Astrid and her daughter Opal, and Garrick into the pawnshop and locked the door. She'd only unlocked it once, her with armed with an antique iron poker that was closest to the door, and Astrid with a colorful burst of magic to shield little Robbi from the zombie that had caught her. Bony, skeletal fingers had carved deep lines in Robbi's left arm and it had scratched up her chest and torn into her throat before Belle and Astrid intervened. While Belle (accidentally, _and_ to her horror,) knocked the head off the zombie's neck, Astrid scooped Robbi up and they dashed back to the shop with Zelena-who Belle hadn't noticed until then,-right behind them.

They'd applied as much first-aid as they could, since Zelena's magic never worked on Robbi, before suddenly the zombies all fell over dead, er, _again_ in the streets. Belle had been more concerned with helping get Robbi and the other victims to the hospital, where two people had died from their horrific injuries, than with what had caused the danger at the time. When she'd spotted Emma and Killian in a corridor checking over their little daughter Cleo, she'd had to ask what happened.

Emma wouldn't look her in the eye, but Killian had been all too happy, very much too happy, to say that "the Crocodile" had been found in the cemetary where the Cauldron was set up.

Belle saw red and demanded to know where he was now. She didn't remember the march to the cell except that she was mad, so mad she wasn't afraid of the severe-looking nurse sitting at the desk and walked right past her to the locked cell opposite to the side where Isaac was kept. (They gave him a regular pen and papers and he was happy as a clam to write his own stupid stories wherein no one but his chosen few got happy endings, and Belle often wondered if he'd been the one to ruin her life with that principle.) She only came too when she stepped inside, David having the good sense to let her in without telling her "no", and meeting Rumple's gaze where he sat on the cot.

She had lit him up as soon as his mouth opened, paying no head to his hunched posture and hurting brown eyes.

"You almost killed Robin Mills today. I watched one of those- _those things_ attack an innocent little girl and nearly rip out her throat, and if we hadn't helped her, she'd be one of the five confirmed dead in Storybrooke, do you hear me? Five people have died because you're so greedy and selfish and obsessed with power! Why do you insist that you can be a better man when you go and do crap like this behind my back! The worst part is that this doesn't even-You don't even _care_ as long as you get your way! What was your plan? To save me and Oliver so that I would be grateful to you? That I would fall into your arms and be happy you were my hero?"

"Belle-"

"No! No you don't get to have a say anymore, I will be heard and you will listen! You are never to see Oliver, not until I change my mind, which I won't, not until you give up your toxic powers and see that every time you've needed to protect your family is because of those powers in the first place! Regina, Cora, Zelena, the Ice Queen, Queens of Darkness, Hades-It's _always_ the Dark One that does the most harm to this whole town, not your enemies, your own power Rumple! Why can't you just open your eyes and see that?"

"Stop, please, Belle I-"

"No!" she had snapped so sharply he shrank against the wall. "I don't want to hear it! Stay away from my son, and stay away from me! It's over Rumpelstiltskin, I don't ever want your magic, or you, interfering with my life again!"

Oliver, naturally, hadn't believed it when he heard and when Belle tried to explain the truth, (or what she _thought_ had been, at least,) he stormed away in the hospital and went to sit with Henry...who did mention once he woke up from the unconcious state he'd been found in that his grandfather and he had been in the graveyard to stop the Cauldron. He got a haunted look in his eyes when asked why they were there before anyone else, and judging from the fact that one of the disturbed graves had been marked by the headstone _**Neal Cassidy**_...that was a story no one would ever hear.

The town heroes let Rumple go, but only after checking his heart for the truth and an additional dream-catcher test. He was free but not proven innocent in the minds of the townsfolk, or Belle if she were honest, but to hear an angry mob appeared on Gold's doorstep, warded off only by Henry and a pair of .38 pistols before Emma could get down there...that was unneccessary.

Belle stuck to what she told Rumple, and ignored him when he came to library and tried to talk to her. She had to react when he said he'd lost his powers, sacrificing the Darkness in place of a human life in the Black Cauldron to stop it. He wasn't lying because Belle saw the black circles under his eyes and how heavily he leaned on his cane, like the past three centuries had caught up to him in a short week. But the hurts ran deep, the false new ones and the dredged up old ones, and she turned him away reminding him to stay away from Oliver.

For Oliver's part, he wasn't happy with that because if his father didn't do anything, why wasn't he allowed to see him? Belle tried explaining her not wanting him to be around Rumple for now, and she wasn't proud of how she'd worded it as sounding like he'd need this time to adjust to mortality at the expense of his time with his son. She wasn't so sure Oliver didn't sneak off anyway, because she did catch him trying to sneak into the pawnshop more than once.

Papa was as pleased as Hook had been that she'd indefinitely broken things off, but that really made Belle feel like she'd made the wrong choice. He'd started making anti-Rumple sentiments known more frequently, and Belle had to almost beg him to not do that in front of her son. At that point, she was really starting to wonder if she'd just surrounded herself with the wrong people, because everyone she had held close to her seemed to agree only Rumple could be so evil as to ignite the Cauldron and raise an undead army, even when Maleficent added it was more than possible to sacrifice the Darkness like that, and the graveyard caretaker came forward to say he'd seen a woman by the Cauldron before he fled in the wake of a zombie uprising.

Except Henry, of course, the primary witness in his grandfather's defense. He was going to jump into the Cauldron, but Gold summoned up his cane and whacked him behind the head before he could do it. Which...was exactly what Belle expected of her estranged husband, when she looked at the facts with a clear head. And if Leroy-who was the king of heresay and finger-pointing,-agreed that Rumple was innocent, then Belle really needed to do some thinking.

She didn't get the chance though, because five months later it quietly was made known that Zelena was again imprisoned under the hospital and Robbi staying with Regina, due to the once again Wicked Witch's attempt at running away to Oz with her daughter.

A well-known scoundrel, Orick, who'd come over from Camelot had in his possesion the Black Cauldron, which was much smaller than one would expect, the same size as a very large cooking pot. Everyone thought he was harmless, but he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding this information until it suited him. He'd grown disenchanted with Storybrooke and when Zelena started fuming about _"Regina trying to raise **MY** daughter like **MY** opinion doesn't matter",_ Orick said if she could steal the silver slippers from Regina's vault and take him to Oz with her, then she could use the Cauldron as the prefect distraction.

It was like two insane hunters trying to kill a deer with a herd of lions; There was so much collateral damage it wouldn't be worth it!

The plan was thwarted because before Zelena could put Robbi somewhere safe to go and pick the defenses apart on the vault, her daughter had been critically injured. The fact that Zelena was all too happy to let Rumpelstiltskin's life be ruined to hide her mistakes was, quite frankly, as horrifying as it was unsurprising. As soon as Regina had stopped enabling her, she'd decided she didn't want to play anymore and was going to run back to Oz.

No one thought to tell Belle until Henry brought it up, asking why she was still keeping Oliver away. With more shame than she had ever felt in her life, Belle told Oliver she was going to talk to his father and went to the Queen Anne on the edge of town, exactly five months after she'd said so many horrible things...but a stupid part of Belle had insisted that this meant everything had changed for the better, that they could start over, without her distrust of the Darkness casting a shadow over things. It was that very stupid part of her made her babble when Rumple opened the door, hesitantly, staring at her like she'd started speaking in tongues.

Belle couldn't remember her exact words. She knew she opened with "um...hi..." and a ham-fisted, roundabout followup about how she'd heard Zelena was responsible and that it had been unfair of her to jump to conclusions without facts, and that Oliver would be happy to see his father again. Rumple nodded a little stiffly, and then Belle stuck her high-heeled foot in her mouth, and how unfair was it that she perfectly remembered saying:

"And I...I wanted you to know that I'm proud you gave up the Darkness. And that if you still...if you want to start over, with me-"

Rumpelstiltskin held up his hand and his brown eyes turned hard. Harder than they had ever been with her, even raging over his curse breaking.

"Amidst your tirade of baseless accusations, there was one thing you said that I agree with: _It's over_. Thank you for letting me see my son honestly now, so that I don't have to feel guilty every time he sneaks around just to talk to me. Now leave."

"Wait, Rumple I'm sorry-"

" _You're sorry you were wrong!_ " he shouted. "You aren't sorry at all for what you did if the first damn thing to come out of your mouth is that we have 'a better chance' when I'm broken and stripped of power than when I was doing everything but _begging_ you for forgiveness to whenever you felt owed something! I'm _done_ Belle, we are _done_ , and if you honestly think I will fall grateful at your feet for this scrap of _kindness_ and let you back into my life, then you are no better than Milah ever was!"

"I am Oliver's mother, you can't just cut me out of your life like that!"

He narrowed his eyes and stepped back, putting a hand on the door.

"Did that stop you, dearie?"

He banged the door shut and Belle lunged for the knob. Words were clogging up in her throat, things that had been left unsaid for too long, things he needed to hear from her even if he never forgave her because this wasn't right for anyone and why oh why had it gone this far? She rattled the knob and smacked on the door and shouted for him to open before suddenly her legs gave out, and she was slumped on the porch like a puppet with cut strings, sobbing brokenly.

She picked herself up and trudged home after it became clear that it really was over. It was pathetic, really, how she'd so easily turned a cold shoulder to him when he really had been trying _so hard_ to make things work. When did their situation become reversed? When did he become the one fighting for them while she stood by guarded and unwilling?

Guilt started eating her alive as soon as it became apparent that this was a suicide attempt. She'd been crueler than he deserved, had truly turned as vile as his ex-wife. Only rather than run from him and their son with another man, she just took away Oliver. Rumple had once said she was the flickering light in his darkness, the one speck of love left in his coal-black heart. Oliver was really the only bright spot he had left, wasn't he? Had she become so vindictive that making him hurt when she did was her solution, rather than talking about the issues at hand?

When Henry called her, she'd hesitated to let Oliver see Rumple this way. She thought it wasn't a good idea because of all the machines and tubes and wires, but Henry snapped at her in a way that made her think: _Yes, she had sunken that low._

And was it any wonder Oliver picked a side that wasn't hers?

For months she tried to get Oliver to see things her way, how dangerous it was for him to be around his unpredictable father right now. She scolded him when he was found in the neighborhood of Rumple's home or around the pawnshop, tried to assure him it wouldn't last forever. All the while, without her noticing as she felt sorry for herself, her son-the son of the believed guilty party,-had been a target for schoolyard bullies and all manner of judgement.

Belle barely noticed the coffee Regina pressed into her hands and mechanically sipped it from the plastic travel lid. It was black and strong, Belle usually liked adding sugar to her coffee, but it seemed rather pointless at the moment. She was aware that her thoughts were extremely self-pitying to be analyzing all of the shit that had happened over the past eight months-no, _ten years_ ,-of what should have been a more pleasant life. One where she and Rumple were together, in that big pink (salmon) house, with Oliver and perhaps a brother or sister to play with, comfortably settled into domestic life...

It was a nice dream while it lasted.

* * *

Regina caught Henry at the door, and her son ushered Oliver into the room ahead of him.

A lot of people said that Oliver looked like Belle, but Regina disagreed. His hair was a little long over his high forehead, a lighter brown than Belle's hair, and his eyes were too sharp and lips too thin. He was a small, pale, blue-eyed version of Rumpelstiltskin, and looked moodier by the day to solidify the connection.

Regina had to deal with some of Robbi's mood swings after her mother was locked up, even though they visited on Sundays. Archie had promised that that was normal and that Robbi was trying to learn how to exist without Zelena stifling her development, but Regina still had her niece go to see the cricket every two weeks just in case whatever snakes were in Zelena's head turned out to be genetic.

"How are you holding up?" Regina turned her attention back to her own son, noticing the sheer exhaustion radiating off of him.

"He'll live, that's I'll I know right now," Henry shrugged. "I don't...I mean I never thought..."

In light of recent times, yes, Regina could understand her former mentor wanting to take his own life. It was a sickening, saddening sort of realiztion though. She'd been busy trying to handle the mess Zelena had left behind with Robin's daughter, though she had apologized frequently and tried to take a few steps to prove it. She'd doused his house in wards so that no one could enter except for his blood without consent after she heard about the mob, meaning only Oliver and Henry-the only two people Gold probably wanted to see anyway,-had access.

"I have to go check on Robbi, I left her a note but I'd rather she not burn the house down trying to make waffles," Regina said, squeezing her son's hands. "If there's anything you need, I'm here for you. Okay? I'm going to ward the door before I leave so you-know-who doesn't try and rip out his life support."

"You-know-who could be a lot of people, Mom," Henry said with a humorless smile. Which was probably because that statement was true...

"Which is why the phrase _'better safe than sorry'_ is so well known," she kissed his cheek before walking out to cast the same ward, this time permitting hospital staff and the visitors in the room to enter. "I'm making you and Belle lasagna. You might not want to eat right now but I'll fell better known you have something available if you do get hungry enough."

"Thanks," he smiled a little brighter, though still weakly. "I'll know if the top is burnt that Robbi helped."

Regina rolled her eyes, though smiled, and left the hospital. Zelena had been disappointed that Robbi didn't have her natural flair for magic, and one of the things that made Regina put her foot down so hard was when Robbi asked how old Regina was when she started using magic. "Magic" where Regina and her sister were concerned, at least how they were taught to use magic, might as well have been a euphemism for "shooting heroin", and she immediately put a stop to Zelena's attempted magic lessons. That interference caused Zelena to revert to trying to get _HER WAY_ because Regina was being _UNFAIR_ , again.

 _God_...why had she wasted so much time with Zelena when it was obvious to anyone that she hadn't changed since she first sashayed into town as a frumpily dressed midwife to steal Snow and Charming's baby to rewrite time? It was sickening that while everyone had spoonfed her seventh and eighth chances, and given Hook a free pass on attempted genocide, they'd all kept sneering down at Rumple whenever he so much as tried to talk to Belle again.

It was a double standard made all the more painful in light of this overdose...

And as she passed by the door that led to the asylum without stopping, Regina couldn't help but shake her head at the bitter irony: Zelena had been responsible for Baelfire's death, ruining any chance Rumpelstiltskin might have had of happiness with his son.

And she'd almost done it again, no matter how indirectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not intended to be anti-Belle in the least, but I will say she's developed a nasty habit of storming away when Rumple slips up and making a condition before they make up again. I can very easily see her following a pattern like this one if S6 doesn't clear some air, which saddens me that I think so poorly of the writers to ruin a perfectly well-suited couple. (Which is why I write fanfiction! It's therapeutic! Bring it on Sunday!)
> 
> And there is nothing redeemable about Zelena, she's the reason witches are burned at the stake. Xp


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw canon, I declare it the polluted stretch of waterway from which we rescue characters and scrub them clean with Dawn like oil-coated ducklings. With that in mind; Enjoy--

The bed was too big for him.

That was probably a stupid thought, all things considered, but Oliver still thought the hospital bed was too big for his father. There was a sizable space on either side of his arms and the railings on the bed, and Oliver wanted to crawl under the covers at his papa's side and wait for him to wake up.

He was scared of jostling one of those wire things though, so he stayed standing by Mama's chair until she pulled him into the empty space of her chair and wrapped him in her arms.

Sometimes Oliver wondered what it said about him that his first memories of his parents were of him sitting on the floor of Papa's house playing with his ragdoll until Mama picked him up and walked out. He only remembered that because it hadn't been a Friday or Saturday, and Mama was with them at Papa's house. He'd look back and realized, one day out of the blue, that it was the first time he noticed his parents disagreeing and Mama walking away.

Considering how often Mama urged him to "forgive and forget" whatever Neal did, Oliver wondered why Mama didn't take her own advice.

Maybe right now she was too scared to walk away because Papa almost died and he wasn't waking up yet.

For a long time they just sat there, Henry taking a chair on the other side of the bed and letting his face rest in his hands. He looked like he was either going to cry, or pass out, Oliver couldn't tell which. He couldn't tell which would be worse, either. It was too quiet, but Oliver couldn't think of anything to say, and he split his time between hiding his face against Mama's shoulder and sneaking peeks at Papa in the bed.

Oliver knew what suicide was. It filled Shakespeare plays and Greek mythology he loved so much, but in a real-live situation...he didn't _understand_. This was nothing like a noble sacrifice or mourning a long-lost love or because of a loss of honor, like stories said. Mama and Papa had both decided, in a rather unpleasant way, to end their on-and-off relationship, so that was mutual, right? And Papa had him and Henry both still. And he had been seeing Dr. Hopper for almost three years, wouldn't he have known if Papa was...ill? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

At around lunchtime, Mama took Oliver down to the cafeteria. The grilled cheese sandwich was soggy and tasted like greasy cardboard. Mama picked at her salad like a bird, chasing a tomato around the bowl with her fork until she looked across the table at him and inhaled.

"I think Archie is going to come by some time today," she said slowly. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"Why?"

"Archie's a good listener. He might be able to make everything that's happening make sense."

Oliver glared down at his gross, greasy sandwich. Archie was a good listener and all, but he was a shrink. He was everybody's friend, capable of making some of the best, clear-headed decisions in town. But he was a shrink. It was his job to help people with _problems_. Like Papa, and Zelena, and Robbi.

"Are you gonna talk to him too?" Oliver asked, separating the over-buttered bread and picking the cheesy filling out his sandwich. "You look sad."

Mama paused, before finally stabbing the grape tomato with her fork.

"I...might, yeah. This is a lot to take in."

"Is Papa going to be okay after this?"

"I still don't know, baby," Mama sighed, her blue eyes very tired. "I just...don't."

* * *

Mr. Gold first knocked on Archie's door around three years ago. He wouldn't look Archie in the eye, twisting his big moonstone ring around on his finger, and muttered if, perhaps, there was an available opening today?

Archie knew that Gold and Belle could be very happy together, but they had a real knack for miscommunicating and trying to build on top of issues without addressing them. If Gold was willing to try therapy, then he genuinely wanted to make things work with his estranged wife. Archie was glad to let the all-feared Dark One sit on his couch, penciling him in for a once-a-week session on Thursdays at that time.

Trying to get Gold to open up was comparable to opening a frozen clam with a licorice rope for the first few sessions. Eventually, whether he realized Archie wasn't going to go blabbing his "weaknesses" all over town or finally came to accept that they weren't all weaknesses, Gold began to talk.

And when he did...it was more surprising that Gold hadn't had a nervous breakdown. Or maybe he had and just ignored it. Archie wouldn't be surprised. The man had enough self-loathing and trauma, built-up over almost four centuries, that it was hard to believe he could get out of bed each morning. Even Archie's cursed personality rarely prescribed medications to patients, but in Gold's case, antidepressants were necessary to helping him manage his anxiety. Standard procedure usually meant tinkering to find the right prescription, and Archie had been pleased that the next-to-lowest dosage worked for Gold.

At least he _thought_ it had worked...until that Saturday morning call.

He'd forgotten his phone in his other coat, so by the time he returned home, he got a rather unpleasant shock. Archie had hurried down to the hospital just after lunch and found Henry slumped in a chair, staring at his grandfather in the hospital bed. Gold hadn't woken up since he was found yesterday afternoon, and was unresponsive. His stomach had been pumped and they were monitoring his condition, though, so it could have been worse.

It could have been better, too.

"Hey Archie," Henry sighed, looking up.

"Hi Henry. How's it going?" Archie smiled gently, stepping closer to the bed. He knew Gold's hair had been gray, but when had it turned so white? "Any changes?"

"No."

Henry looked wrung-out and exhausted. He had probably found Gold, which would be a shock to anyone, but lately he and his grandfather had grown close. Archie didn't know all the details, but there was a lot of friction between Henry and his maternal family after a pregnancy scare with Violet. They'd also disapproved of his working in the pawnshop, though Henry was an adult now and couldn't simply be told what to do anymore. In a way, Gold mentioned during a session in that time a year and a half ago, he and Henry reached an understanding, both rather frustrated by attempts to have choices made for them.

One of the base elements of Gold's character was being a father. Archie himself was surprised by how deeply it was ingrained in his personality, but there it was. Removing Oliver from his life for five months was a critical mistake, especially given his innocence, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Archie that Gold had cancelled their last two sessions in a row. As one of the wounded after the Cauldron, Archie had to take a few weeks to recover himself, which may have also ended up hurting Gold. They'd gone from having weekly sessions to one every three weeks, and Archie had been going to talk to him but...then _this_ happened.

Blame would not fix this, though, not from anyone.

"How, um, how much...?"

"I just refilled his prescription. The _whole_ bottle," Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When does Rumpelstiltskin ever do anything by halves?"

Archie had to smile at that, even though it wasn't very funny. "Has Oliver heard yet?"

"Yeah, yeah. He and Belle are down in the cafeteria right now having lunch. I had to explain what happened. You...might want to talk to him."

"Of course," Archie nodded. "It's perfectly normal for loved ones to be upset over an attempted suicide, I was planning to talk to all of you in turn anyway."

"I think Oliver's needed to talk to you since the Black Cauldron, actually," Henry sighed. "He's been having a hard time with the kids at school this year, and just...isn't happy. You might want to talk to Belle about not letting Moe around him for a while, too."

Moe French, formerly Sir Maurice, was...not one of Archie's friends. He could understand Moe's desire to want the best for his daughter and disapproving of her constant on-and-off relationship with her estranged husband, but he didn't agree with his methods at all. It was no secret Moe only reconciled with Belle when an ultrasound revealed she was carrying a boy, and he was utterly disappointed that Oliver was a quiet, bookish child rather than a strapping young athlete. Archie made a note of Henry's suggestion just as mother and son came back into the room.

"Hi Archie," Belle gave a tremulous smile, rising up on her toes to hug him. (Was it any wonder Oliver was such a little little boy?) "I'm glad your here."

He smiled back at her, and then at Oliver. "Hello Oliver."

"Hey," he murmured, looking down at the tips of his sneakers. "Is my papa going to be okay?"

"I'll do my best," Archie promised, patting the boy's shoulder. Oliver gave him a little quirk of a smile and went over to give Henry a bag of chips to snack on, Belle watching him go while gnawing on her lip.

"Thanks for coming, I mean it," Belle said, keeping her voice low and her gaze drifting to Gold. "I'm...I'm lost here, I don't know what to do. Is this because of what I did, what I said?"

Archie hesitated. Belle, for all she declared that she didn't want to be romantically involved with Gold anymore, was so painfully, obviously in love with him still. And vice versa. It wouldn't do Belle any good to take all the blame on herself. She was, for all her compassion, a very impulsive person, and if Archie articulated his response wrongly, she could react wrongly too.

"We won't know until I talk to him," he began soothingly. "It could be the blame shifted on him by the townsfolk, a sort of withdrawal from the Dark One, it could be a delayed trauma effect, a nervous breakdown; There's been a lot of stress on him for the past year and too many factors to single out just one thing. I'd like you and Oliver to come see me at my office. Even a suicide that isn't, er, _successful_ , can still be incredibly damaging to the patient and their loved ones. Further cases of depression can happen, and I understand that Oliver isn't doing very well in school."

Belle shook her head. "It's...nobody told me he was being bullied, and he doesn't want to talk to me anymore. It would do him some good, thank you. When do you want him to come in?"

"I think Monday would be a good time, after school. When do you want to come in for yourself?"

"I..." she hesitated, and for a moment Archie thought she was going to put him off. "I suppose Monday, if you have the time. When?"

"I'll probably be able to see you at about four-thirty or so. Robbi Mills' sessions usually start at a quarter to four and run for forty-five minutes. Now that all of my professional questions are out of the way...how are you doing, really?"

Belle pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, sighing wearily.

"I don't think I'll sleep until Rumple wakes up, I'm worried about him and Oliver, _and_ Henry, _and_ I only ate a salad for lunch and I feel like it's going to come back up because my stomach is twisted in knots. Other than that? Just dandy."

Archie smiled. "That's perfectly understandable."

"Archie," Belle groaned. "I love you like a big brother I never had, but I swear to god, if you say 'this is normal' one more time, I might have to hit you."

 _'Which is perfectly normal,'_ Archie thought, but was wise enough not to say, electing to give Belle another hug before going over to where Oliver was sitting on the foot of Gold's bed. The boy was picking at the buttons on his black-and-white shirt cuff, and Archie made a note to offer Oliver something from that box of odds and ends he kept in his office for nervous patients. When Henry had been seeing him as a child, he'd liked playing with a plastic loom to weave potholders when they talked. And Gold had sometimes shown up with a bag of knitting.

Well, apparently textiles ran in the family...

"I have to be running now, but I'll be seeing you. Good luck Oliver, Henry."

That little quirk of a smile he must've picked up from Gold tugged at his lips again, and Oliver nodded. Henry gave an equally wan smile and a little wave.

Archie left the hospital room, and made his way outside, where the wind had picked up to a chilly breeze and stung his lungs in the way that cold air does.

Thinking back to Gold's last appointment a little over a month ago, in hindsight, something was off with him. He had been more reserved, quite obviously backsliding, but that was to be expected that given the circumstances. Gold had mentioned that he had permanently broken things off with Belle when she came to apologize, and Archie really couldn't say if that was a mistake or not.

On the one hand, he and Belle had been stuck in an extremely unhealthy pattern that wasn't good for them or Oliver. On the other...Belle brought out the best in Gold, made him want to do his best. But if Belle didn't want his best...

Archie shook his head. If he were going to give them his best, he shouldn't be forming opinions ahead of time like this. There would be plenty of time to work through everyone's story. Including Gold's, whenever he woke up.

* * *

Robbi had only seen pictures of her father, because he died when she was much too little to remember him. (They did say that he took her on her very first camping trip in the Underworld, which Robbi felt proud of.) However, she thought they would have looked alike. Her nose was rounder than Mum's, and her eyes a softer shade of blue. Robbi did wish she had her red hair, though, since her's was a sort of muddy color caught between blonde and brunette.

Or maybe dark hair would be better, like Aunt Regina's. That would be pretty too. Aunt Regina always had pretty hair, that got fluffy sometimes like Robbi's and Mum's did. "It's the humidity," they said, though Robbi wasn't sure what humidity was exactly.

Living with Aunt Regina was different than living with Mum, and not just because her house was bigger. (Henry had said that as long as she didn't leave her shoes lying around, she'd have nothing to worry about.) Mum had mostly used magic to summon meals and keep the farmhouse clean, and she'd tried to teach Robbi but she wasn't very good at magic. Aunt Regina usually did cooking and cleaning "the old-fashioned way", she said, and while cleaning was stupid, cooking could be fun. Robbi liked it.

When Robbi shuffled downstairs at around ten in the morning, she found her aunt standing over her biggest pot, stirring her homemade tomato sauce. Robbi (with supervision, because toasters were tricky,) made herself a piece of cinammon-sugar toast for breakfast and then tied her long hair back so she could help.

Robbi was put in charge of grating cheese, sitting at the counter and grate-grate-grating the white blocks of mozzerella and the yellowish blocks of mild cheddar. The cheddar and oregano were the secret ingredients, and Granny's lasagna was nasty compared to Aunt Regina's. Though Robbi wouldn't say that because Granny was very nice, until you insulted her cooking, and everyone knew she had a functional crossbow. (Even if her hands were getting a little arthritic at her age, Granny also had a werewolf granddaughter, and Dorothy's crossbow was fully functional.) It occurred to Robbi that this was a lot of cheese and tomato sauce, and asked why there was so much.

"I'm making lasagna for Henry and Miss Belle," Aunt Regina replied slowly, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot. "Mr. Gold is, uh...in the hospital right now, and they're not going to want to cook if they're upset."

Henry was nice, Robbi always liked him. Miss Belle was the librarian, and she was a very nice lady who knew the best books. She'd let Robbi keep The Secret Garden copy, even though Robbi probably should've taken it back to the library rather than hide it under her mattress. That was probably stealing, if she thought about it. Miss Belle was also Oliver Gold's mother, and Robbi supposed Oliver was... _okay_. They didn't pick on each other, (usually...) but they weren't good friends.

Robbi wasn't good at making friends. The only kids she really played with regularly were Ruth and Neal, because she knew them. And Oliver was weird. He was quiet and read books on the playground sometimes, instead of playing. And his weird friends sat with him when he read. They were...weird. Robbi didn't know how to act around them so she tried to channel her mother's confidence, but it never worked out and most kids got angry, for some reason.

Archie said that she should try to figure out her own way, rather than be like Mum, though. So Robbi usually practiced on Oliver, Opal, and Garrick, with varying degrees of success. Garrick especially, because they both liked green, and lived with their mothers. If one of them ended up with green apples or grapes, they'd usually share at lunch. Oliver didn't like green food though, or apples. Shame that, because that meant they wouldn't be making apple turnovers for his family.

"Can we make cookies too?" Robbi asked. A little selfishly, 'cause she would eat the batter stuck to the bowl and spatulas.

"I was thinking brownies. _And_ you can still lick the bowl when we're done," Regina smirked, making Robbi stick her tongue out at her. "Do you want to come with me when I take this to Belle and Henry?"

Robbi thought a moment. She liked Henry, but she'd never been to Gold's house before. He used to live with Aunt Regina, like Robbi did now, but he moved out and helped his grandfather around the house now. She wasn't sure she wanted to go inside that big pink house, though. It looked too colorful, like the gingerbread house a witch might live in. (Robbi knew that story really happened, but she'd never asked for the details...) Well, Mr. Gold did used to be a powerful wizard of some kind...

"I don't think so," Robbi shook her head. "Can I stay here? I think I need to do laundry."

"What does that mean? Exactly?"

"I don't have clean clothes left," she confessed. "I've been re-wearing them."

"Then yes, you wash your clothes, please," Regina chuckled. "You remember how to use the detergent?"

"I just drop one packet thingie in there, right?"

"Right. Don't forget your pajamas, and if you're done before I get home, please wash towels too? With warm water."

Robbi nodded, making a note of that. For a moment, she thought it was odd that Miss Belle would be upset because Mr. Gold was sick, because she thought they weren't married anymore. But, she'd finished grating cheese then, so Aunt Regina asked her to get out the glass baking dishes from the lower cabinets and get the package of ground beef out the fridge and Robbi figured it wasn't _that_ important.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I dunno if Morpheus is or is not their spawn, I'm just saying he's hella shady and I created Oliver before his unfortunately Rumbelle-positive face showed up saying Rumbelle-negative things. That is your disclaimer.)

Henry had eaten the bag of chips Oliver brought him for lunch, and a cup of coffee at about two in the afternoon. Elsewhere in Storyrbooke, Regina had probably made lasagna, which almost made Henry smile.

Out of his maternal family, Regina would probably be the only one to have an understanding with Gold. In a lot of ways they were different, and in a lot of ways they were the same. The difference in the past ten years being mainly that Regina, more or less, found her happiness while Gold was still fighting for whatever he could get his hands on. And since Zelena was her sister, Regina felt guilty for letting the witch have free reign and essentially shoot a hole through years of therapy and progress.

No doubt the rest of his family might show some sympathy _now_ , but Henry couldn't quite forget they'd also been the ones eager to lock Gold up on the weakest evidence for three days, and then continue supporting Belle's misinformed decision to keep Oliver away because "it was for the best".

They didn't live with Gold. They didn't see Oliver those five months. None of that was for the best.

The Storybrooke rumor mill would probably see this suicide attempt on the front page of Sunday's paper, and Henry was not in the mood to deal with his emotionally-charged grandparents and birth mother, and a step-father who would probably raise a glass and cheer the news. If he had to face them, he'd need some sleep first.

Henry and Belle decided as Saturday afternoon began bleeding into the evening that it would be best to go home, shower, grab a bite, and try to rest before coming back in the morning. Oliver hadn't said much and surprisingly, Belle asked him if he'd like to stay over at the salmon-colored Queen Anne rather than go home with her.

Oliver nodded, not quite understanding why his mother would offer that. But Henry knew just by looking at Belle's eyes that she needed some time to herself.

Henry had been furious that it took Belle five months to decide if the innocent and powerless Mr. Gold could see his son again after she said a bunch of things that hit a painful mark and she wouldn't listen to reason. Fortunately, he hadn't said anything while angry, and after a cooling off period, he could understand why. Gold had made plenty of past mistakes, she probably wasn't even sure he lost his powers or not.

And while Henry understood, but he didn't agree with it. Though if she'd wanted to reconcile three months ago, maybe she hadn't meant it as much as everyone thought she did. Time would tell, he guessed.

Henry drove Oliver home with him, stopping by Marco's house to collect his stuff before heading back to the Gold residence. It was just as Henry left it, but with a foil-covered baking dish and a plastic-wrapped plate of brownies on the porch with a Post-It note reading: **Eat this, and we love** **you** , in Regina's handwriting.

Once inside, Oliver went upstairs to put his stuff in his room. Henry popped the lasagna in the oven to heat and then followed, carefully not looking at the couch in the living room.

When Henry was sixteen, he realized that he couldn't really live on his allowance(s) for the rest of his life. He discreetly began looking for a job in Storybrooke, until Gold offered him his "old job" at the shop again. Back when he first asked for the job, Henry was now a bit ashamed to admit, he hadn't so much been looking to bond with his grandfather and learn about his father as he had been snooping for the Author.

It was a seriously wasted piece of time since Gold probably knew all along Henry didn't care about him back then, and wouldn't let Henry within ten feet of something he didn't want him to know. Once Henry had started working honestly there...he probably should have apologized for that. He hadn't, and he felt his grandfather understood though, but never had Henry imagined _living_ with the man.

A year and a half ago, when Violet was twenty-one and Henry was two months behind, they had a pregnancy scare. Thinking ( _hoping_ ,) that his mothers would be more...understanding, than Violet's father, they'd gone to them first. And it hadn't gone so well.

Henry had expected panicking, some anger maybe, and finger-pointing. From Regina because she always saw him as "her little prince", and from Emma because she had been a young mother that gave birth in just about the worst-case scenario: Barely eighteen, and in prison. So he wasn't surprised that they both reacted a little poorly and started flinging questions at him, but then Emma had looked directly at Violet and snapped, "How could you do this to yourself!"

It hit the wrong button in Henry, that Emma was essentially blaming his girlfriend when this was a mistake two people had to make, but then both times she'd gotten pregnant, with him and with his baby sister Cleo, were unplanned. Some might even say accidental. At the time though, he saw red and he told her to shut up.

Never tell your mother to shut up in an argument.

Henry had grabbed a bag and moved into Granny's overnight, where he got a breathless, elated call from Violet at about two in the morning. And neither of them had ever been so happy about a period and cramps before. However, Henry wasn't willing to forgive his mothers at that time and decided it was time to move out.

Gold offered him a place to stay, mainly because he basically said: "I pay you rather well, but not well enough to move into something your family or I would be comfortable with."

Again, this led to an argument over two different things: The first being a bone of contention since Henry had gone back to working for Gold, his job itself. Snow and David especially wanted him to become a town leader of sorts, but Henry had enough responsibility recording history properly without adding bueaurocracy to the mix, plus, they had three kids and Emma who would have it under control.

The other shoe, in this case, dropped when Henry went to collect the stuff he kept at Emma's house and crossed proverbial swords with Hook. Henry always thought it was a mistake for Emma to marry Hook within a week of Hyde's defeat, especially given how he'd treated her throughout the Underworld. Their "True Love test" seemed kind of shaky when Henry wrote it, and somehow he knew they were just seeing what they wanted to see. At least Emma was. He didn't much give a damn about Hook, as long as Emma was comfortable.

But Hook, for some reason, stood there while Henry left to put the last box in the car and said he was making a mistake, that "the Crocodile" would only betray him, and that he'd end up as bitter and broken as Belle.

Hook didn't care about Belle unless he needed someone to read a book for him, or if Cleo needed a convenient babysitter on short-notice, or if it actively hurt Gold. It was evident every time he spoke _for_ her, without her permission, and Henry told him where to go stick his hook for his troubles.

A long-time-coming screaming match had erupted in the yard by the time Emma showed up and told Henry he needed to leave until he cooled down. Which was funny in a dark way because it took a month for Emma to thaw him out when she apologized not only for her actions, but for Hook, and another week before Henry could summon up the will to accept and apologize. _To her._ Not to Hook, and she accepted that much, but things were still tense between them if the conversation drifted too far from a safe subject.

Henry had faith that things could be repaired in time...but he suddenly gained a new respect for his grandfather and Belle. And also a new frustration: If he and his mothers could relearn how to get along after a fight like that by talking calmly, then why couldn't Gold and Belle?

One of the many reasons Henry was so fond of Oliver was because he perfectly understood what it was like to be torn between two parents you love. Back when the curse first broke, 10-year-old Henry had often chose the side of his newer family that his storybook said were good guys over the Evil Queen. He didn't realize until later that they kept him away from Regina a bit more than was necessary. Oliver was the opposite because while most people in town would've wanted him to just be with Belle, Oliver needed Gold in his life because they thought alike, they had an understanding that Belle just didn't.

Which isn't to say that Oliver didn't love Belle; He loved both his parents. But just like Regina was easier to talk to about some things, and Emma about others, sometimes a boy just needed his father.

* * *

Oliver didn't want to go home with Mama. He just...didn't. So he went home with Henry, and Henry said something about Mama needing some "alone time", whatever that meant. But he wondered it that was a mistake, because it didn't feel like Papa's house without Papa's cane tapping around or...it just _wasn't_ home.

He put his things where they usually went, and then thought he should wash his hands before dinner. Only when he came walking back from the bathroom, he had to pass by Papa's bedroom door. It was weird thinking that it had been Mama's room too once, Oliver only went inside if Papa was in there, or a few times when he was little and had a nightmare. It was a very big bed, and Oliver was never sure why Papa didn't get a smaller one. Or a smaller house since it was just the two of them, three once Henry moved in.

Giving in to the temptation, Oliver peeked inside. It looked the same as ever. There was even a suit folded over the back of a chair with a tie and a pair of shoes near it, like Papa had been getting dressed. Creeping inside, everything was in perfect order, just like Papa had stepped out the room, from his two spare canes in an umbrella stand, to the neatly made bed...

And on the bed were four envelopes.

That was different. Oliver shuffled over in his socks and peeked at what the writing on each one read. It was all done in Papa's scrawling cursive. _Henry_ , _Oliver_ , _Belle_ , and _Will_. Oliver didn't know who Will was, but his was packed in a manilla envelope. Oh. It was Papa's will. Oh. Suddenly Oliver wasn't so sure he wanted to know what was in the letters...but he still picked his up.

He sat down on the floor and tore it open, plucking out a folded sheet of paper. Papa's handwriting scrawled across the page, starting at the very top with _Dear Oliver._..

> _I'm very, very tired. So tired of everything, really. Never doubt for a moment that I love you. I do, I did, I always will, my clever boy. My son._
> 
> _But I am far too weak to live. Living takes strength that I'm not sure I ever had, and I deeply regret that I have to leave you. I promised myself when I learned your mother was pregnant that I would do anything to protect the both of you. Perhaps this will be for the best, perhaps you will do better without my shadow poisoning your reputation. You're a far stronger person than I, Oliver, and you have far more friends in your life than I think I did too. You have your mother, Henry, Opal, and Garrick, and you'll surely make new friends that see what a brightly burning star you are._
> 
> _I'm being very selfish, I know, and if you hate me for this, I understand. I'm just so tired, my boy, and I feel this is the price I have to pay for making everything stop. Don't blame yourself, or anyone but me. This was my choice, no matter how right, or more likely, how wrong it is._
> 
> _With my love and sincerest regret,_
> 
> _Papa._

Oliver didn't know he was crying until Henry was putting his arms around him.

How was Oliver supposed to hate his father when he didn't even know how to feel? Sad? Angry? Hurt? Sick? How could Papa say he loved him and then try to die? How could he say he regretted leaving and then tried to anyway?

How could he think Oliver didn't need him?

* * *

Belle found a dish of lasagna and a plate of brownies on the apartment doorstep. There was a note attached to the brownies that read: **Dishes are microwave safe, return whenever you're done. Best wishes. Regina.**

Huh...that was nice.

Belle put the lasagna in the fridge and nibbled on a slice of brownie. Her stomach twisted when she was halfway finished so she had to stop before she threw up whatever was left of her salad and the half-a-brownie on the floor. She didn't feel like eating, or sleeping, and when she got in the shower as soon as the water hit her skin too cold because she wasn't paying attention, she burst into tears.

Suicide.

_Suicide._

It was an ugly word. Belle had always thought so. She'd thought it was foolish when lovers killed themselves in the name of love, she thought it wrong so many poets should put women who killed themselves on a pedestal as an example of honor. Once she'd thought of sacrificing your life as a brave deed, but that was before Pan's failed curse when she'd seen Rumpelstiltskin die...

And then she'd brought him back from one hell into a new one called Zelena.

And then thrown him over the town line after he lied to her.

And then left him at the well because she had to protect herself.

And then gave up in the Underworld and went to Zelena for a sleeping curse because she thought it was the best option.

And then gave up again because Morpheus had said he'd ruin their family if she stayed with him.

And she gave up again.

And again.

And again.

And then they came to the now.

Suicide.

Oliver didn't look like "Morpheus" at all.

His hair was sandy instead of dark, his eyes were blue instead of brown, his coloring was lighter, his ears _were_ cutely rounded, but...they weren't the same person. Belle felt certain she'd made the right choice in getting some space from Rumple when Whale announced after a sonogram that it was a boy. And she'd thought that maybe Oliver's eyes would darken when he was a babe, all baby's eyes were blue. Or his hair would darken, Robbi's hair had started off as pale as cornsilk before darkening over time.

But when Oliver was four, Belle privately admitted that she'd been horribly misled. Oliver was fair and blue-eyed, not dark at all, always tiny and slender rather than tall. Whether it was some trick, some dream demon, some psychological fallacy Belle had come up with because she didn't _want_ to trust or believe in Rumple anymore...it didn't matter because by then, she'd clung to the idea that Rumple would ruin their family for so long that she'd believed it, and walked away at the first bump in a reconciliation attempt.

By the time Belle got out the shower on weak legs and toweled off, she felt too limp and too taut all at once, and crawled under the covers before she could start crying again.

Suicide...

Belle wanted to be angry, and she probably would be if Rumple woke up and became responsive enough for her to yell at. Right now she just...couldn't.

Right now she just wanted him to wake up so she could understand what drove him to this and fix it. It was such a laughably twisted version of the first time the Darkness had been removed, with him in a coma and her unsure of where they stood, only this time he hadn't done anything wrong for her to be angry at.

Whimpering, Belle recalled something else she'd mishandled in the Morpheus situation. She's said something to the effect that True Love's Kiss wouldn't work because Rumple wouldn't let it. Oh how she wanted to go back to that backwards dream world and slap herself out of that poofy ball gown when she pulled away from the perfectly functional kiss. It would've worked. Rumple tried. He _let it_ work. She was the one that messed up that kiss, he wasn't to blame for any of that...directly.

Belle maintained that she had a right to be mad. That was understandable: They made a mistake jumping into marriage, but he shouldn't have given her a fake dagger, and he shouldn't have lied to her, and he should have told her he'd sold their child to Hades, he should have confessed he'd taken back his powers before he knocked her up, there was plenty he could have done.

Oh. Look at that. There was that impotent anger she was looking for.

So she had a few steps on the moral high ground. Big deal. It didn't change that she'd ate up the patchy evidence that Rumple was guilty for releasing a heinous plague of undead on the town and saying things that she...she really didn't mean, not like that. Frustration,always, but never so _hateful_. And then she forced Oliver to stay away because no matter how often she said it was for his own good, no matter how many friends agreed...it wasn't.

It was for herself, for her own selfish protection, using their son as a shield to ward off his father, and as a weapon to hurt him.

Rumple might've been making the right choice in telling her that he was done. But why the suicide then?

Belle glanced at her clock. It unhelpfully announced it was a quarter to nine. Visiting hours started at seven. She should probably be up by six to shower and eat, and she had a laundry basket that needed folding. The library was closed on Sunday anyway. What was she supposed to do on Monday, go to the hospital or go to work? She had to leave for therapy she wasn't sure about, but knew Oliver would need anyway...

8:50.

It was going to be a long night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO THINK Belle has a right to be hurt/angry over a little bit of everything that's ever happened. But it would also be helpful if we could lock her and Rumpelstiltskin in a room until they talked about it instead of...whatever is happening. And since I'm getting paranoid about the amount of Belle-hate stirring in the fandom, I'll add this is NOT anti-Belle again.
> 
> I also plan to have Rumple waking up within the next two chapters. Look out for that.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry found Oliver on the floor of Gold's bedroom with tears rolling down his face and a letter in his hand. He wrapped the boy up in his arms and for the second time that day, let him sob against his chest. The letter fell free from his hand and Henry gave it a once-over.

Oh...

Oliver only picked at his food, unsurprisingly, when Henry took him downstairs. He did eat a brownie and a glass of milk, and milk had protein or something in it, right? That was good enough for now. He sent Oliver up to bed and tucked him in, but Oliver hadn't said anything beyond two words since the letter.

Belle said something about an appointment with Archie on Monday, right? Good, good.

Once the dishes were put away, and Henry had taken a shower to wash away that gross hospital feel, he found himself standing back in Gold's room.

There were two more white envelopes like Oliver's, one with his name, and one for Belle. And a large manilla envelope holding Gold's will...and a suit slung over the back of the chair his grandfather used to help him get dressed in the morning. With shoes and a tie.

Oh shit, was that what he wanted to be buried in?

_Shit._

Henry sat on the foot of the bed and was torn between the will and his personal letter. In the end, he picked up the letter, and peeled the flap open to take out the folded sheet of paper. Gold's scrawl covered the page, and Henry felt his heart creep into his throat.

> _Dear Henry..._
> 
> _I've known you for your entire life, having helped Regina adopt you though I scarcely remember what my cursed self did to cut through the red tape of child services. You were always a bright, curious boy, and I'm glad I got to know the intelligent, thoughtful young man you've become. Sometimes you reminded me so much of Bae that it hurt, but you are your man, and you've every reason to be proud of it._
> 
> _I'm leaving you the house. Do with it as you will, stay here and fill it with a family of your own, sell it and move somewhere else, leave town altogether, it's up to you. In my will you'll find that you've inherited forty-five percent of my assets as well. Do with that as you please, too, though I hope you'll be prudient with it. And do keep the shop, please. You're always saying that your position as Author doesn't pay, so perhaps now you'll find a bit of security for you and your sweetheart._
> 
> _As for Miss Violet; Don't make my mistakes Henry. Always be honest with her, consider the consequence of what a white lie might hold before you have to repair the damage. Don't be afraid to let her in, and don't be afraid to let her go when you fail. It would be better for both of you not to make my mistake of beating a dead horse. (And for god's sake use a condom until you're ready to have children, you're too old to make that mistake and too young to be so careless!)_

(Henry had to laugh at that, weakly, with wet eyes.)

> _You're a better man than I, Henry. I know that no matter how rocky your relationship with your maternal families has become due to association with me, you believe in them enough to fix things. And please, please look after Oliver. He's going to need you. I feel like I'm failing him as I've failed his brother, your father, but I just can't. I can't do this anymore. I'm not okay Henry, I don't think I've ever been okay._
> 
> _I thought I was doing so well but...the graveyard brought it back, I suppose. My weaknesses, my failings, a hundred reminders of how I'm unfit to live when so many better people have died, how no matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough to win. It's cowardly and selfish of me, and cruel besides because you bring home the pills I've overdosed on. That isn't your fault though, rest assured. You've been a wonderful grandson, I've enjoyed working in the shop with you, and I hope you can learn to forgive me, or at least, to understand. Perhaps I'm asking for too much, I know I can't understand or forgive myself._
> 
> _With love and hope for your future,_  
>  _Your grandfather._

Henry had to read the letter again before it really sunk in. In a detached way, it was impressive really. Without his being the wiser, Gold had laid out his funeral clothes, written up three notes to the people that would miss him, the will was no doubt an iron-clad contract wih no room for quibbling and exceedingly well thought out, and prepared everything in advance.

How long had he planned this?

Eight months ago when they saw the living cadaver of Neal Cassidy-Baelfire in the graveyard and he was locked up for the crime of a bad reputation? During the five months Belle swiftly and coldly cut him off from seeing Oliver? Three months ago when he'd permanently broken things off with Belle?

Nothing made sense.

Henry got up and eyed the manilla envelope on the bed. He didn't want to open it. The letter said he'd been left the house, and the shop, and forty-five percent of Mr. Gold's sizable fortune and properties. The other fifty-five percent was probably divided in some way between Oliver and Belle...

He picked up the letter for Belle. It was light, but it felt heavy in Henry's hand. What were his last words to his estranged wife?

It felt...wrong, to read it before Belle, so Henry decided to take it to her in the morning. He shuffled back to his bedroom and got into bed, then since the clock read nine in the evening, he sent a text to Violet: **Are you awake?**

In a few moments, there was a response: **Yes, what do you need?**

_'Everything to make sense and be normal.'_

Henry called Violet instead. His girlfriend's voice was decidedly worried but he figured it would be. When he said his grandfather was in the hospital for an overdose, it took Violet a long moment to respond.

_"On...purpose?"_

"Suicidal overdose," Henry repeated, the words not fitting his tongue. "Sometime between nine and one in the afternoon, they said. I found him around four-thirty yesterday on the couch."

_"Oh...oh my god...H-Henry, are you-Oh god, I'm so sorry. Should I come over or...?"_

She sounded utterly helpess but wanting to be helpful at the same time. Henry smiled despite the knot in his chest.

"I'm okay tonight Vi. You could come by the hospital tomorrow, if you want. I'll be there all day, most likely."

 _"Of course. Do you need anything? Um, like, uh, like food I guess? When my mother died our neighbors brought food over because my dad and I just couldn't cook without her there for the first month. Not that Mr. Gold died! I mean, he's okay, right? Oh_ god, _Henry, I'm sorry, I don't know what to say."_

Henry wanted to hug her and laugh. He wanted to hold her and cry.

"My mom Regina sent us lasagna and a plate of brownies. I'm okay right now. Would you mind just coming to the hospital? I'd...I'd like to see you."

_"What time?"_

"Uh, a little after seven would be fine, maybe eight. Just whenever you can. Belle and Oliver are going to be there too."

 _"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then. Is there anything else you need to talk about?"_ she asked.

"Nah, it's getting late. I should try to get some sleep. Love you."

 _"I love you too."_ Violet said, and he could almost hear her smile though the phone before they hung up.

* * *

Belle passed into a light sleep some time between midnight and one, then woke up at a quarter to five in the morning and couldn't go to sleep again. She just lay there under the covers until five-thirty, when she figured she was just wasting time under sleep-warmed blankets.

The first thing she did was take a cold shower to wake up. Her eyes felt dry and her throat felt scratchy because of a second sobbing fit she'd had around ten o'clock last night when she was curled up on her side and remembered how, over a decade ago, she'd thought at this point in her life she'd still be happily living in the pink house (no, salmon,) and sleeping in that big now-empty bed on the other side of town with her husband.

Why?

Why did she always chose to believe the worst in Rumpelstiltskin when he was at his best, and then be a complete dupe when he was obviously hiding something? Why couldn't she have just kept her mouth shut in the hospital and let them be a happy family when he held Oliver for the first time, and his brown eyes filled with love and pride? Why did she always listen to Killian or Papa or Emma or Snow, but never let Rumple get a say when she needed to hear something?

Once upon a time, she'd told Bae that she loved all of his father, even the parts that belonged to the Darkness, and told Rumple she knew what she was getting. She couldn't say now whether that was naiviety, a lie, or a truth she'd forgotten along the way. He'd been selfless before. He was willing to die to save Henry on Neverland. He _did_ die to stop Pan. He fought Hook without any magic and chose not to kill him like the hero she knew he could be. He fought a goddamn mega-magic-bear with nothing but a pouch of magic.

And...she chose that moment when he lied to get her out of town to say it was "the first time you were truly selfless".

Had she ever really known what she was getting? The real package? The bundle of insecurities and mistakes and traumas that left him bitter and losses that left him terrified, not just the good and the spark of courage and the sweetness he showed her? She'd always pinned all the blame on Rumpelstiltskin not believing in their marriage, but perhaps she'd believed too much in what he _could be_ rather than what he _was_ in that moment.

Shoving it all into a little box she mentally stamped _Stuff For Archie's Office_ , Belle got dressed in a deep blue sweater dress with a bunching cowl and an above-the-knee hem. It was her "cozy winter dress", the one with sleeves that flopped past her wrists and made her feel warm. She tugged on black leggings and a warm pair of heeled boots, twisted her hair up out of her face and made a dish of scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. The laundry was folded and, while she lacked the attention span for it, Belle packed two books in her big purse. One was for her, the other was the Percy Jackson book Oliver had been working on in bits and pieces for the past week in case he wanted it.

His favorite character was the titular one, and when Belle had re-read it, she felt a pang at how Percy's mother raised him but he still had a good relationship with his immortal father whom he greatly resembled and inherited a number of powers from. It was a bit close to home. Though, as far as Belle knew, Oliver was a child of True Love without immediate magic. Likely, he had to learn it the way Emma had. She wasn't sure she wanted him to know magic or not, but he never asked either, so that was just a bridge to cross later.

(And another thought went in the _Archie_ box...)

She walked to the hospital like she'd walked home yesterday. There were few places Belle frequented in Storybrooke she couldn't make by walking, and the grocery store was only a block away, so she'd never gotten a car. The walk was cold but calming in a way, at least until she stepped through the hospital doors and the smell of scented Lysol disinfectant punched her in the nose. The basement she'd spent twenty-eight years confined in had smelled like cold dank stone, no disinfectants or Lysol to be sniffed. Sometimes Belle thought it was better that way because the overly sterile smell made her itchy and nervous.

The room was empty when she arrived. She was about ten minutes before seven, but no one stopped her. Rumple was still outcold, still lying in the same place, still... _still_. He shouldn't be still, he was never still, not unless he was trying to maintain a neutral poker face.

With no one in the room, Belle stepped closer to get a better look at her estranged husband. His silver hair had turned white as snow at some point, and she thought it had started turning white eight months ago, if she looked back. His laugh lines were still there, but there were more wrinkles than before. Smoothed when he was "resting" like this, but she could still make them out. Fretful-looking creases, mostly, those of a man who had little to smile about. He'd lost some weight but not in a very healthy-looking way, his eyes sunken and cheeks hollow. He was pale and starting to grown a very noticable dusting of salt-and-pepper stubble that Belle found herself stroking.

His hair was short. Belle ran her fingertips up to his temples, where his hair was lightest. She wasn't sure why Rumpelstiltskin had cut his hair short. She'd...never _asked_. But it had been cropped and gray for the past ten years, and there'd been few reasons for Belle to touch it. Brushing a hand over it, it felt like fraying silk, still so very soft and thick, fine strands slipping through her fingers.

She cupped his scratchy cheek again and bent down to kiss his forehead, her lips almost on his hairline. He remained utterly unresponsive, but that was hardly a surprise because this wasn't a curse, this was a medical problem. And a mental one, too.

Belle returned to sitting in the chair by the time Oliver and Henry showed up. Less than two minutes after they were in the room, Violet tried to come in, but she was blocked by a glow in the doorway. Regina had, apparently, warded the door against intruders.

Henry permitted Violet to come in by taking her hand, and then she'd flung her arms around his neck. Henry gave her a hug that made her feet leave the ground and Belle looked away, down to the letter Henry had pressed in her hands. She knew the handwriting, she didn't want to acknowledge it, but she knew who wrote it. She knew what could only be in this envelope and it was more terrifying than anything in the world, quite honestly.

"Oliver," Belle said, her son looking up from where he sat on the foot of his father's bed. "I'm going to step out for a while. I brought your book if you wanted to read it."

Oliver hestiated for a moment, then looked at the letter. He nodded. So Belle handed him Percy Jackson and The Olympians: The Labyrinth, and excused herself. She went outside to the little green space/garden/whatever you'd call the grassy space outside the hospital set with a few benches. Nobody was out there so Belle took a seat on the shady bench and ripped the letter open.

It started with _'Dear Belle'_. Oh yes, she was going to need privacy for this breakdown she felt coming on strongly...

> _I've written to Oliver and Henry. I suppose it depends on who finds my notes and how you feel as to whether or not our son's letter will reach him. I love him, and my grandson, and despite myself, even you, sweetheart, but I can't remember the last time I felt I was going to be okay. I'm not sure I've ever been okay, really. Ever. I'm tired of pretending everything it alright when I can't sleep or eat or stop thinking about how I've ruined what should have been a happy marriage and life with you._
> 
> _I'm sorry for how callous I was that day on my porch. I haven't given you many reasons to trust me in the past, so you are well within your rights to want to protect our son, or to believe we only stood a chance when I let go of my powers. It isn't really powerlessness that's driven me to this. Henry was going to jump into the cauldron at the graveyard, because he assumed I had more to lose than he. What have I to lose? You were right. Our being together only causes heartbreak. You've always been happier without me. I have nothing to offer Oliver but a bad reputation. I suspect Henry might feel guilty for bringing home the medications I took, but it isn't his fault, he shouldn't . This is my own cowardly choice, Belle, too weak to live, too tired to fight anymore._
> 
> _Please, just take our son and make a good life for yourselves. I've split my estate between you and Henry, forty-five percent each, and the remaining ten percent is set aside for Oliver when he turns eighteen. You can do what you please with the properties, liquidate or continue collecting rent. You can pile all my money in the yard and set it on fire, or save it until you want to go out and see the world like you've always wanted. All I care is that you're happy and taken care of, and perhaps one day you can forgive me for everything._
> 
> _Faithfully yours, my dearest Belle,_  
>  _Rumpelstiltskin_

Belle swallowed. She looked back at his middle of the letter. He didn't...he thought he was wrong for lashing out when she'd been nothing but cold for nearly four years? He thought...his loved ones were better off without him? And he still took care of her in his will?

She tucked the letter into her purse, out of sight as she stared ahead of her. It was...it was...heartbreaking. Their being together wasn't heartbreaking, ever, it was when they were apart over stupid arguments that hurt. When he wouldn't talk and she wouldn't let him. When she let other people tell her what was right and wrong, and when he lied to her. That was what was heartbreaking, not them.

Belle was able to stand on her own without Rumpelstiltskin. She had her own life, her own interests. The last ten years proved it. But the last ten years were also fraught with mistakes and hurt on both sides, caused and received, with their son unfairly caught in the middle. If Rumple woke up, and if he wanted to talk, then they would. She owed it to him to see his side, owed it to herself to get some answers, and most importantly, perhaps, she owed it to Oliver to stop putting him in the middle...

* * *

Henry looked like he'd aged five years in two days, and Violet was glad she'd come down first thing in the morning. He looked like he needed support, and she understood that his family's relationship with Mr. Gold was complicated enough that he didn't necessarily need them at the moment. Belle had stepped out with a letter in hand and Violet had a bad feeling about that, and Oliver wriggled up to sit by his father's hip to read a book aloud to him.

Violet pulled the empty chair around to sit by Henry. (It seemed improper to sit on his lap with his family in the room.) Their hands linked together and she gave his a squeeze.

"You okay?" she whispered, not wanting to interrupt Oliver.

Henry nodded, letting his head rest on her shoulder. He was wearing one of his favorite (and most worn) hoodies, the dark blue one with the fleecy hood, and a gray shirt and faded jeans. His scarf and coat were stuffed together in a corner of a bench holding everyone else's coat and an overnight bag he'd optimistically packed for when Gold woke up.

"I'm tired, but I'll be okay," he confessed. Violet turned to kiss the top of his head, then they just sort of sat quietly listening to Oliver read.

Oliver was wearing a dark red pullover sweater and jeans. She wasn't sure what he was reading, some sort of adventure book told in the first-person. THey had just met a god of...engineering and fire, or something, named Hephaestus. Who was talking about not trusting people, and how his mother Hera had tossed him off the mountain when she saw his ugly face.

" _'Mother likes telling that version of the story,' he grumbled. 'Makes her seem more likable, doesn't it? Blaming it all on my dad. The truth is, my mother likes families, but she likes a certain kind of families._ Perfect _families. She took one look at me and...well, I don't fit the image, do I?' He pulled a feather from the falcon's back, and the automaton fell apart. 'Believe me, young Cyclops,' Hephaestus said, 'you can't trust others. All you can trust is the work of your own hands.' It seemed like a pretty lonely way to live..._ "

Violet agreed, casting a glance at the unconscious man in the bed. Through Henry, she'd gotten to know his grandfather a bit. He wasn't as scary as the town would have her believe, he seemed...lonely more than anything. Henry had said that his father had abandoned him to become Peter Pan, so maybe he had a lot in common with Hephaestus.

" _'Why not?'_ " the boy in the book asked just then when Hephaestus wouldn't help them find who they were looking for. " _Hephaestus shrugged. 'Some of us get thrown off mountainsides. Some of us...the way we learn not to trust people is even more painful. Ask me for gold-'_ " Irony in that- " _'Or a flaming sword. Or a magical steed-'_ " Given his reputation that was possible, Violet supposed that was possible-" _'These I can grant you easily. But a way to Daedalus? That's an expensive favor.'_ "

Violet had let her eyes rest on the comatose man again...only he wasn't _quite_...

"Henry," she shook him until he lifted his head up. "Henry, Henry look."

Brown eyes stared at Oliver while he read from the book, blinking slowly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Gold's POV of the past ten years, similar to Belle's POV a few chapters back. It's sort of long but there's a LOT of ground to cover. I'm gonna focus on a couple of happier things (and a Rumbelle Revelry fic that needs a-writing) so we're gonna stop here for a little bit. I recommend reading some fluffy when you finish this.

It was hard to imagine things actually getting worse than the Underworld. But they had. Starting when "Morpheus", whoever the hell that was, cutting in just when Rumpelstiltskin and Belle were starting to talk and planting the idea that he'd ruin their family like he ruined his first.

Regardless of that person's warnings that everything would be his fault, over the last ten years, Rumpelstiltskin's relationship with Oliver was stable.

As for his relationship with Belle?

Before Oliver was in kindergarten, Belle had been willing to make steps forward. Small talk, little smiles, awkward invitations to come upstairs for a bit of lunch on Sundays or something innocent like that. But perhaps Morpheus's prophecy was a self-fulfilling one, because it planted a seed of doubt so deeply in Belle's head she always walked out at the first relationship bump they hit.

And he'd always let her go because heaven knows he'd given her more than enough reasons in their past to doubt him. And when Rumpelstiltskin pursued her later, Belle never gave any signs his attentions were unwanted...not until she was telling him to leave her or was walking out, at least.

They were still legally bound as husband and wife, estranged as they were, but Rumpelstiltskin could never bring himself to go through with terminating that last bond between them. He was selfish and greedy and wanted to cling to that, even if Belle hadn't worn her wedding ring since long before Oliver was born. For all he knew, she'd tossed it in the harbor. But he wasn't so cruel as to keep her chained by his side. His attempts to convince Milah to stay had proven that a woman cannot be kept with you unless you literally tied her up in the basement, which he would never have the stomach for, so he hinted that Belle should see other people.

She did. It hurt like hell, but he took a bit of self-centered solace in what Oliver said: That his mama didn't like any of her dates for long, that they all ruffled his hair like petting a dog, and that at this point she only went out once or twice a year to appease Moe. (Who Oliver didn't have a high opinion of.) But Rumpelstiltskin still meant it. If Belle was ever happier with another man, (or woman,) then he'd step aside gladly.

And then three years ago, they'd hit a wall.

For an entire year, things were at their best. He'd been allowed a few chaste kisses, presented her with a flower from his garden that she smiled at, and for the first time he was invited to Oliver's birthday party. He didn't mind not going before because he could always have a private celebration with his son at home on Friday or Saturday, they'd bake a cake and Oliver opened a few gifts, and they'd skip dinner in favor of said cake. It was a small party, Moe glared daggers the whole time and fumed, but Gold could care less, as long as he was here and his family was genuinely pleased to see him.

The problem was he'd stretched the truth without realizing it, at the time. He insisted,-and Belle was proud,-that the hadn't used magic for nearly a year then, except when he'd had to brew one potion to fix one of Snow's _little darlings_ when they got into something in Regina's vault that gave them an upset tummy. And a pair of donkey ears Oliver said should have stayed on as a warning to the others. The reality was that while he wasn't using magic actively, he wasn't... _not pursuing_ it.

Quite honestly, without any enemies or portals dragging people to and from all of creation, being the Dark One had turned into an excuse for _Mrs. Jones_ and her charming parents to come running to him every time they had a problem. For some reason, they never bothered Regina or her "reformed" sister. Maybe they thought he owed them something for the large amounts of nothing they'd done for him. Who knew? But it made him reconsider how badly he needed to be the Dark One, and if there were no threats, then he could feasibly break his curse at last. It was the first time he really _wanted_ to give up the whole ball of wax, and he _felt good_ about it.

He should have told Belle that. But he...but he just couldn't.

What if she got upset because he thought he was going to kill someone again? What if she threw him out of town again? What if she took Oliver away because she considered it a danger to their son? There were too many things that could go wrong, so he'd kept his mouth shut until he had a strong lead.

Unfortunately...he was ruined by that same way of thinking.

Things had been going well enough that he'd asked Belle to come to his house for dinner, just the two of them. She agreed happily, and after a glass of wine or two, they started kissing and he couldn't stop. It had been so long since he was here in Belle's arms, he was sure he was going to disgrace himself when she fumbled with his zipper in the bedroom. Belle had looked so lovely sprawled out on his bed again, her hair fanning around her in just her underthings before he covered her again, a mess of limbs and wet kisses. She giggled and rolled away from him, reaching for a condom in the bedside table. He'd leaned over her back to kiss her neck and shoulders, feeling on top of the world-

And then she froze under his mouth: "Rumpelstiltskin, what is this?"

Belle sat up, shrugging him off. He almost asked what she could have found in there to stop her when his eyes fell on the gray spellbook in her hands, decorated with rubies. Oh.

"It's...it's not what it looks like," he winced at his choice of words even as he said them. "Belle, it-It's a spellbook, but-"

Her blue eyes settled on him with so much disappointment he could hear her heart break. No! No it wasn't fucking fair! He was trying to talk, there was nothing wrong here! But he choked when she shoved the book against his chest, yanked her dress over her head, and stomped out the room. He stayed paralyzed on the bed until he heard the front door slam shut, and he flung the book into the mirror on his dresser with a loud shatter.

That wasn't the only thing to break, either. Belle wouldn't talk to him. She ignored him. He tried to explain himself but she outright said she didn't want to hear. So...he stopped trying to fix whatever had broken that time, and counted himself lucky she still let Oliver come over on Friday and Saturday.

It was almost like Belle had decided to punish him whenever they broke up by not telling Oliver, because he was quiet when they went home that Friday until he finally asked: "Are you and Mama broken up again?"

Rumpelstiltskin paused, staring down at the noodles boiling on the stove in their pot. "Yes...we...had a misunderstanding. I should have told her something I didn't."

"I figured," Oliver hummed, nibbling on a meatball that was supposed to be for their dinner. "She always gets upset and leaves, doesn't she?"

"It's just how she reacts, son," he'd faked a smile, at where Oliver was sitting nearby on the counter. "Some people want to stay and fight, she just leaves when she gets upset."

"She gets upset with you a lot."

"I've given her reason."

"Didn't she leave when you repossessed Moe's van 'cause he didn't pay his loan on time?" Oliver was only six at that time, but he still had a better head for business than Moe did. "Why'd she get upset with you over that?"

Rumpelstiltskin was glad Henry arrived with Violet then, distracting his son. How was he supposed to explain it? _'Well before you were born I sold your life to a healer to save Bae, because I didn't know I'd meet your mother and fall desperately in love with her in three centuries, and I also proposed to her with a fake dagger as a sign of trust and then the only reason you happened was because we were desperate for each other after three months and I didn't so much lie as not tell the truth, so please, don't blame your mother for how she treats me, I've earned it.'_ Yeah. No.

Thinking that maybe Belle had enough of him and his many, many years of baggage, one day while he was out, Rumpelstiltskin stopped outside of Dr. Hopper's office.

Well, why the hell not?

He'd gone in and knocked on the door, and the redheaded psychiatrist answered promptly. He looked confused, probably because it wasn't rent day, and by some miracle Rumpelstiltskin ground out his question: "Do you have any available appointments?"

When he did look up, the damn cricket was almost _grinning_ as he ushered him inside, because wouldn't you know it, he had an opening right now! In hindsight it was for the best, because otherwise he might not have had the nerve to come back. Not that the first few sessions were particularly beneficial for anyone. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't quite trusted the walking conscience not to go gossiping about what he'd learn to the whole diner, but after a time, (and when in an inspired move, the cricket had brought in his aging dog Pongo, who was _far_ easier to talk to,) he'd admitted something that led to something else. Things sort of progressed well after that.

Belle hadn't particularly cared what he did, though for perhaps the first time, Rumpelstiltskin had been okay with that. Maybe once he got everything in his head sorted out, she'd see him in a different light. Oliver and Henry were pleased that he seemed more content, at least. He was in a good enough place to let Henry move into one of his empty rooms after he'd had a falling out with his mothers after they'd thought Violet was pregnant. It beat letting the boy move into the cheap (and scary) apartments, then his mothers would have a real reason to be upset with Rumpelstiltskin.

And then came the Black Cauldron eight months ago...on rent day, when Rumpelstiltskin and Henry had been walking around town.

Henry had brought Violet lunch at the animal shelter where she'd found a job, and when he'd meet Henry on the street, they started walking the long way back to the shop together. He couldn't recall if he'd locked the pawnshop or not. That was what they were talking about when a foul-smelling green mist started wafting through the street.

The most disgusting part of the Cauldron-Born was that their bodies were crumbling skeletons, with spectral green holograms superimposed over the decaying frames. Cruella was among the first wave, complete with a holographic fur over her shoulders. Henry had asked if the Black Cauldron was real, which was what made him realize what it was they were seeing.

He teleported them to the graveyard and found the abandoned cauldron spewing green fog over the rim, but no spell-caster in sight. The dead were still clawing out the ground. That was how Rumpelstiltskin had come face to green glowing, dead-eyed face with Baelfire...clawing his way out the earth and latching on to Henry's leg...

The less said about that the better.

Leaning with one hand on a tombstone, his leg trickling blood, Henry looked at the cauldron and the dead still rising to shuffle out the gates. He hesitated and said, "How do we stop it?"

"The traditional way. A willing sacrifice," Rumpelstiltskin said, swallowing. He had Oliver to think of, Belle. But Henry had a large family, a young girlfriend, perhaps sixty years of life ahead of him. There was only one logical choice here...unless...

Henry had said something he couldn't remember. Something noble. Like a Charming who couldn't see the repercussions of his actions. But Rumpelstiltskin waited until his back was turned to knock him unconscious with the cane he summoned to hand. With his grandson out of harms way, he went over to the Cauldron and swallowed.

The Darkness was a living entity. A living curse. Created by Nimue's hate, carried through countless centuries by countless different people. If his suspicions were correct, he could sacrifice his curse in the Cauldron rather than his life...and if he was wrong...then it was a small loss, really.

He put his hands on the rim and shut his eyes. He started channeling his power into the vessel, until his head began to ache and his knees began to buckle. The first thing that let him know it was working was the sharp twist in his chest and the sharper pain in his ankle. Without magic supporting him, he had to lean more on the Cauldron, but not so much that he'd topple in. The curse protested, not wanting to leave its cozy home in his soul. It felt like the pain of tearing off a bandage over all of his skin. And then...

He remembered shrieking as his ears popped and filled with white noise, his vision going black and he crumbled to the ground. But...but he was alive. Aching from head to toe with a pounding heart and ringing ears, but _alive_. And...and he was free of the curse. The smoke stopped roiling, the dead halfway out of their graves falling still, their green bodies melting away. It was over. He laughed weakly, a bit hysterically, groping around for the cane he'd dropped. Oh, _god_ , his ankle hurt. He'd have to get used to that again.

Of course, that meant he couldn't get Henry out the cemetary. So he'd have to limp into town...find somebody able-bodied. That was the plan, at least, until he'd been accosted by Prince Charming, Emma, and Hook. Apparently they thought so little of him that just _seeing_ him hobble out the gates made him guilty in their heroic eyes. Hook had taken great pleasure in dragging him, heedless of his ankle, down to the asylum where he was locked up without a chance to tell them about Henry needing medical attention.

Later, Belle stormed into the cell, bursting at the seams with indignant outrage. Having been isolated with just the image of Bae's shattering skull behind his eyelids in the cell, for a moment, Rumpelstiltskin had thought she was his avenging angel come to free him. He was sorely disappointed.

What had Hook or Emma told her he'd done? All they caught him with was leaving the cemetary. They didn't let him talk and they didn't want to hear him anyway. And neither did Belle. She cut him off both times he tried to speak until he was curled against the wall, not wanting to listen but having every word burn his ears like acid, silently praying to whatever god was out there that it would stop.

He was released three days later. Charming and Snow said something paltry he couldn't recall after having Emma swipe a dreamcatcher in front of him that had him see _everything_ all over again, and still rip his heart out to verify. It hardly mattered because Gold wasn't aware of anything until Henry put his hand on his arm and helped him climb into the Cadillac to go home.

He almost wished they'd left him there to rot.

He'd spent the night staring up at the ceiling counting sheep, until he had to get up and walk around the house a bit because he swore the bedroom walls were closing in on him. He could nod off for five hours if he was lucky, more commonly just under three. Sometimes when his mind was particularly hateful, he had nightmares of shadows and teenaged fathers, of glowing portals and screams, of green skin and daggers, of silver hooks and sabers, of dreary red skies and crying babes, of all manner of cages and prisons, and blue eyes that hated him.

It was the eyes that had him sobbing when he jerked awake, curling around a pillow and muffling his cries in it.

Had he broken Belle so thoroughly beyond repair that she truly thought he could do something so vile and destructive as unleash the dead?

Rumpelstiltskin had been known to be greedy and power-hungry, but there was nothing to be gained from having the Cauldron-Born murder citizens and destroy property. Henry and Maleficent, who he supposed he owed a good bit to now, had vouched that it was possible for him to sacrifice his powers, and that he hadn't activated the damn pot in the first place. It still took three days for them to release him, and it was almost a month before he laid eyes on his son again.

Oliver slid into the pawnshop, peering out the window for witnesses, than almost tackled Rumpelstiltskin to the ground. It hurt so bad to see his son, and it hurt so much more to send him back across the street to the library before they got in trouble. Oliver was the instigator, but Rumpelstiltskin would be held responsible for this infringement of Belle's terms. Half the town didn't believe he was innocent anyway. The last thing he wanted was a lynch mob bearing down on him.

It wasn't a lynch mob per se, but an angry mob _did_ assemble outside of his house not long after he sent Oliver away. That was the last time Rumpelstiltskin left the house unless Henry badgered him into going to the shop. But he couldn't help it. He was a crippled old man, and there was a whole bunch of people out there that wanted to hurt him because he couldn't fight back anymore. Henry couldn't say they didn't, either, and Regina had come by to douse the house in blood-magic wards keeping out intruders.

Truly he was living in an upside-down, backwards world for _Regina_ to be apologizing to him a second time, to look at him worriedly, and do him a no-strings favor like protect him. Maybe she just did it because Henry lived in the house, and it had been Henry making the mob back off with Gold's two pistols that had since vanished, though he wasn't sure to where.

Henry tried to help, but the lad was just kind like that. All Rumpelstiltskin could do in the shop was tinker in the backroom until his hands started shaking when he heard a noise and his heart started stuttering in his chest. Oliver tried visiting with him in the five months, but he was terrified of what Belle would think and sent him back as soon as he could even though it hurt. It was all he could do not to cry sometimes because he was so, so, so tired and so, so, so hurt by _everything_.

Belle wouldn't listen to him when he did screw up the courage to limp to the library, ignoring the glares from a few pedestrians, and tried to explain himself to her. She didn't care. She'd finally given up on him, no more chances, no more attempts to prove himself, she was...she was done.

So, by the time Belle arrived on his porch looking uncomfortable, Regina had already been by to apologize a third time because (surprise again!) Zelena had concocted a mad idea to escape to Oz with her daughter, Robbi, who she was trying to shut in her house to keep to herself. It was too late then, Rumpelstiltskin's nerves were shot all to hell and his hair had turned white sometime between his wrongful imprisonment and when Belle showed up, stuttering out an apology. He could see Oliver again, she said, and if he wanted to try again...

She wanted to try again now? After she treated like _this_? When she wouldn't listen to him, when he was breaking down and needed someone to just lie and say it would be okay? There was none of that then, only now, _now_ that he was a shell of a human being, who couldn't sleep, who couldn't eat, who had to lie to Henry because he felt awful that the boy had become the caretaker to a feeble old man who couldn't pull his shit together.

He lashed out at Belle then. Hating how she treated him, hated how she'd made him feel guilty whenever he saw Oliver for five months, how she brushed him off before but wanted a second chance now, how she only wanted him when he was ruined and helpless.

And he hated himself for wanting to fall apart in her arms and let her make it better again.

Instead, he slammed the door shut, and immediate collapsed on the foyer floor, while Belle shouted at him from the other side to open it. He couldn't. He couldn't make his legs work, couldn't stop shaking or sobbing, couldn't stop his head from spinning, his heart was beating out of his chest and he was really surprised, later, that he hadn't thrown up all over the floor or had another heart attack.

When Henry came home, all he said was that he had permanently broken things off with Belle. By then he'd pulled together a semblance of calm one wouldn't expect from someone having a panic attack a few hours earlier. Henry didn't quite believe him and nudged him to tell Dr. Hopper about it at their next appointment.

Their sessions were spaced three weeks apart by then, and Hopper had been hurt by a zombie which gave Rumpelstiltskin a chance to pull together a good story. One the cricket didn't believe, he could tell. Dr. Hopper had asked questions about his sleeping habits ( _irregular as ever_ ,) and his feelings towards Belle ( _confused, slightly angry, hurt_ ,) and why he felt that way ( _because she only wants me when I'm convenient for her_ ,) and about how he felt about his own behavior ( _unsure, nervous_ ). Rumpelstiltskin didn't feel better when the cricket reminded him that he could call whenever he felt troubled. It just made him feel there was something _wrong_ with him, something he couldn't pinpoint but that everyone else could see.

(Oliver had latched onto him on the next Friday after school and nearly started bawling, which made him feel that much fucking worse because he hadn't even stood up to Belle for his son, just like he'd folded under Milah...)

He'd made a few tentative trips to the pawnshop, but it was no use. He could _drive_ there alright, but he couldn't make himself get out the car if anyone was on the street. People still looked at him like he was scaled and leather-clad, about to abduct a newborn or turn someone into a slug. He'd had to walk out the pharmacy in the month after his break-up with Belle, when her father Moe had bumped him, on purpose or not, and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't remember what he said, but it was spoken in a mocking tone while the larger man sneered down at him. He'd sat in his car for nearly two hours before he felt well enough to drive.

Three days later, on his last appointment with Dr. Hopper, someone had deflated two of his tires and painted _THE DARK ONE-MOBILE_  on the door while he was in the office and he'd then had to endure a humiliating ride with David back home while his car was towed to the shop. Rumpelstiltskin didn't leave the house period after that. A full month of isolation.

He was well aware that Henry and Oliver were starting to wonder why he didn't leave his property anymore, and that the cricket wasn't going to buy a second cancelled appointment...but he didn't do anything about it.

Rumpelstiltskin was crumbling and he didn't know how to fix it. And one night he sat there and wondered what would happen if he didn't fix it.

The idea started growing on him, and Rumpelstiltskin began laying out his options. Gassing himself in his car with exhaust seemed too dramatic. Bleeding to death was unappealing, as was slitting his throat. Hanging wouldn't work because he was too short to arrange the rope anywhere, even standing on the chair. He couldn't find his guns. In the end, the idea came to him one morning when he opened the little lockbox of medication he kept in the kitchen to measure out his vitamins, an aspirin for his heart, and the antidepressant Dr. Hopper prescribed.

It was a low dosage, and Dr. Hopper had every hope that some day he wouldn't need it. Before the Cauldron, at least, it helped treat his anxiety where therapy alone couldn't, managed a mild depression he didn't know he had, and curb a panic attack. At least _before_ his stress levels went through the roof. Some where on the label it listed "sucidal thoughts and behaviors" as a side effect, but it got Rumpelstiltskin to thinking. The pill bottle was almost empty, he had a refill coming in next week though...

So, he wrote up a will over the course of two days, checking the legality and fortitude of each statement. No loopholes. He'd divided his estate largely between Henry and Belle, double-checking the worth of liquidated assets versus as-they-were, and was pleased with the sums. Ten percent of his wealth was in a trust for Oliver available when he was eighteen, and a letter for each beneficiary because he owed them an explanation. Belle was just kind enough that she'd blame herself for his suicide, Oliver was only a child and was increasingly frustrated by his mother's friends and father, and Henry would be delivering the medication he planned to overdose on.

That was a lot of explaining to do to innocent parties.

The only snag was when Oliver had stopped at his house on Thursday. Henry was going to come home soon with the pills, and Rumpelstiltskin had completely forgotten that it would be Friday tomorrow. He'd told Oliver that he couldn't stay the night, and he hated how his son's blue eyes filled with hurt tears. He'd asked if Belle told him to say this.

"That doesn't matter," Rumpelstiltskin had replied, keeping a white-knuckled grip on his cane. "You just can't stay with me this Friday Oliver, I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be, alright?"

Oliver walked away without saying goodbye, and Rumpelstiltskin thought it might be good. If he hated him a little, maybe he wouldn't miss him too much. He went upstairs and selected a suit he was fond of, a dark blue one rather than black, a dove gray and a charcoal tie, lying them over the back of a chair. He laid out a pair of shoes, too, before Henry got home.

Was it odd that the idea of suicide had cheered him up on that last day? Because it had. It was all going to be over soon, no more stressing about what went on outside his door, no more guilt for his family. He'd taken care of them in his will and Belle wouldn't have anything tying her down to him except, if he were lucky, a few good memories. He had made dinner and Henry asked if he was feeling okay like he'd done every night since the Black Cauldron.

He grinned for the first time in months. "I feel good. I think it's going to be alright."

Henry, good man he was, grinned back. He probably thought it meant Rumpelstiltskin was going to go to his therapy session and start leaving the house again.

He said goodnight, went to bed, and Rumpelstiltskin sat in his bedroom staring at the one photograph he had of he, Belle, Henry, and Oliver all in the same frame. Oliver was between two and three, and Rumpelstiltskin was holding him, Belle's arm linked through his, and Henry looming over them both at sixteen. The boy had insisted that they needed a "Stiltskin family picture" that summer afternoon spent lazing in the backyard.

The good memory was soured by the fact that a week later Belle and he had an argument over something petty, and she'd picked Oliver up off the ground and stormed out.

He kept that in mind the next morning to harden his resolve. Belle was always so miserable when he failed her. Her walking away always made him feel worse than Milah's sneering because Belle _had hope_ he'd change. And then he disappointed her. Every time. Henry had ruined his relationships with the rest of his family by turning to him, and it was only a matter of time he did hurt Oliver like he'd hurt everyone...

So, he sent Henry off with a smile and a promise he'd never keep to take a walk, and settled on the couch with a glass of water, and the bottle of pills. Taking them was disgusting, he hated having to swallow the fat little chalk-tasting things, but once the whole container was empty, he figured it was worth it.

He'd started shaking about an hour later. His head hurt and his heart pattered oddly. He felt jittery and high-strung, but couldn't make his body get up. Things started turning fuzzy and dull, the clock on the wall reading it was two in the afternoon by then. He shut his eyes and was aware he'd fallen over on his side, but by then, he'd given up.

Things faded to a peaceful, dark black for a longwhile. He thought he heard voices a few times. Felt phantom hands. Was he dead? Death hadn't been like this his first time around. There was a lot more, um, _hell_. And dead people. Not a drowsy darkness.

Then, he heard a familiar, small voice. Oliver? Where was Oliver? He was saying, no, _reading_ , one of his Percy Jackson stories to him. That was an almost pleasant thought. When Oliver was little at bedtime, or sick, he or Belle would read him a story.

The darkness lifted and Rumpelstiltskin realized, then, that he'd opened his eyes. He was...he was in the hospital? There was something up his nose and wires attached all over his arms. Something went **bing** and **beep** in the room. Oliver was the first person he saw, sitting near his hip with his legs hanging off the bed. He had on his dark red sweater and was focused entirely on Hephaestus outlining his trust issues, why he was indifferent to Percy Jackson's plea to find Daedalus before their enemies.

The talk of "favors" would have made him smile if he didn't feel limp from head to toe. He just wanted to listen to his son talk, wanted to reach out and touch him to verify it wasn't an illusion. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe it was better to be ignorant of his hallucination.

And then...

Henry was off to the side, his head resting on Violet's shoulder where they sat. Violet's dark eyes met his for a moment, and her's widened. Huh. Not an illusion then. Next she was shaking Henry to get his attention and things started going fuzzy, until Henry lunged for the call button and a team of nurses and Dr. Whale rushed in. Someone had pushed Oliver off the bed and it was on the tip of his tongue to chastise them, but he couldn't make his tongue work for him, for once in his life.

Things went back to black in a moment, but he knew he wasn't dead.

And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning to anyone Captain Swan positive: This is not for you. I welcome you to ship whatever your heart desires but the way canon is presented to me, I cannot. I also don't believe they're True Love. This is my story, I am writing it as I see fit. Thank you for taking this warning into consideration.

Cleo woke up Sunday morning and shuffled down the stairs. At the ripe old age of seven, she was capable of pouring the gallon of milk all by herself (if it wasn't too full,) to make cereal with, so she intended to make herself a bowl of Cheerios and decide what she was going to do with her last day before school began again. She had gotten dressed in a yellow sweater and jeans, and brushed her shoulder-length black hair before coming down. She found her parents already downstairs talking quietly, and that wasn't odd in itself, but why were they being so quiet?

And then Daddy said, just loud enough for Cleo to hear: "You can't be serious, Emma. Why do you have to go down there?"

Mommy pressed her lips together before saying, "Because he's my son, Killian. I need to see if he's okay."

"The lad is fine. He'd do better if he weren't having to take care of his senile grandfather all the time. A boy his age should be enjoying life."

When Henry stopped living with them, it had quickly become an unspoken rule in the house that Mommy and Daddy couldn't talk about Henry with each other. Daddy always thought Henry should be handled a certain way that Mommy disagreed with, and she couldn't talk without starting a fight with Daddy. When he forgot the rule, Mommy would close her eyes, take a deep breath, and tighten her jaw when she opened her eyes again. Like she did now.

"Henry is an adult. He's not a child, and he makes his own choices. But he's still my son, and he needs my support, because Gold _is_ his grandfather and they love each other. The only choice you have in this matter is if you watch Cleo here, or take her out with you."

"You can't leave her with your mum? The Jolly needs repairs, I can't watch her and tend to the ship at once."

"My parents are already on their way to the hospital. Just keep an eye on our daughter for an hour, Killian, then I'll be back and you can go do whatever it is you need to do."

"I could go play with Stephanie," Cleo offered.

She must've scared Mommy, because she jumped and nearly spilled her coffee over her hands. She smiled stiffly as she and Daddy turned to see her standing there. "Hey kiddo, how long have you been sneaking around? You want some cinnamon toast?"

Cleo nodded and climbed into a chair at the table. Her mother and father kept trading odd looks at each other while Mommy buttered toast and sprinkled cinnamon sugar on top, and by the time she sat it on the table, she put on that stiff smile again as she swept Cleo's dark bangs out of her eyes.

"I've got to go down to the hospital and see Henry," Mommy said. "It's very important. Do you think you can behave if I bring you along?"

"I could stay at Stephanie's house instead, if you and Daddy are too busy."

"You can't this week, remember? Stephanie has a cold. So how about you come with me, and then when we're gone, we'll go get a hot chocolate from Granny's?"

Cleo smiled. "Okay! I'll go get my shoes!"

"Breakfast first, shoes second, please," Mommy reminded her when she tried to bounce out the chair. "There's plenty of time, don't rush. You want some milk or orange juice?"

"Milk please!"

Mommy went to get a glass out the cabinet while Daddy walked by her. He ruffled Cleo's hair in passing and said, "I'll be off to the Jolly then, I'll see you ladies later. Perhaps I'll meet you at Granny's."

"Bye Daddy," Cleo waved, brushing crumbs off her mouth as he walked around the corner. She didn't hear the huff of air her mother gave over by the fridge, or how she'd slammed the milk jug down on the counter before unscrewing the cap.

* * *

Belle had missed it.

By the time she returned to the hospital room, she found Henry and Whale in deep discussion. When they noticed her, Whale gave her a recap of everything that had happened in the half-hour she had been out: Rumple had regained consciousness for a brief period of time before lapsing again, which he assured was perfectly normal at this juncture. So far they detected no physical damage to his brain, though his mental and emotional state were anyone's guess. They'd keep him under observation in the hospital until further notice, and have Archie come in and do some psychological evaluations when Rumple was alert and conscious again.

Belle had missed him by _that_ much.

How did he feel seeing his son, grandson, and grandson's girlfriend in the room but not her? Or did he not want her there to complicate matters? His letter hinted that he cared, but with their record...

While Belle had been reluctant to attend a session with Archie, perhaps it would do her some good after all. She was spinning herself up here with no information to go on, just a few impulses and theories. That had never worked well for anyone.

Oliver and Violet, (who had left to get from under the doctors' feet,) returned promptly. Oliver had a little baggie of Goldfish crackers he was snacking on, (and Belle was glad he was eating something,) and carried a coffee cup like the two Violet was carrying. He brought the cup to Belle, and she smiled at the first sip. Coffee, with no fewer than four creamers and three sugars mixed into it. Her son knew her well.

"Thank you baby," she murmured, bending down to kiss the top of his head. "It's perfect."

Oliver smiled back in a shy, timid way that let Belle know more than in mere words that her son was anxious, and she perched on the foot of Rumple's bed with him. He didn't seem interested in taking his eyes off his father for long. Henry said that Rumple had woken up while Oliver was reading, and no one had noticed until Violet saw him. Belle wasn't sure it made her feel better watching, but it did make her feel like they were doing _something_ at least. Henry and Violet had returned to sitting in two chairs side-by-side, talking a hushed voice about something or other.

When Henry had been about sixteen, he and Violet had decided to see other people. The reason was some petty teenage lovers quarrel that was ultimate resolved, but in the six month interim, they had tried seeing other people. Nothing else quite worked out and Belle, in hindsight, felt slightly jealous over their reunion and at how supportive and close they were since. Like True Love.

But since generally the only way to discern if you had True Love involved one party being cursed, Belle didn't wish they learn it that way. Plus she had decided that True Love and all it's legendary glory was...overrated. What was the point in being True Love when it couldn't bring you happiness?

Belle was pulled from any sort of morose musings by a rap on the door frame. Emma and her parents were standing out there, little Cleo peering around their legs. While Belle's first instinct insisted that they were being friends, and Henry's family, and coming around to check up on them, another little voice in Belle's mind sighed, _'What do_ they _want?'_

"Hey," Emma spoke up first, offering them an uncertain smile. "We heard what happened, how's it going so far?"

Henry squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes before answering the question. "He was awake awhile ago. Whale said it's not uncommon to drift in and out of consciousness at this point. Otherwise not so bad."

"Hi Oliver," Cleo chirped. The seven-year-old occasionally played with Oliver's friends at school during recess. Oddly enough, despite a natural age-gap between fourth graders and second graders, the children of lifelong enemies got along rather well.

"Hi Cleo."

"Do you want some ketchup?" she asked, pulling a handful of packets out one of the pockets on her little coat. "There's loads in the cafeteria."

Oliver and Henry actually snickered while Emma pulled an exasperated face. It was good to hear the two boys laugh, and Cleo's utter innocence even brought a smile to Belle's face, even if it was at the expense of Grand Theft Condiment.

"I turned my back for one minute to throw away my cup," David muttered, moving to step into the room when a field of light blocked his entrance.

He stumbled back, repelled by the force, and Emma drew Cleo a little closer to her. Oh, right. Belle had overheard Regina saying something about warding the entrance against non-medical staff, and Violet had needed to be invited inside by Henry. Personally, she didn't think that was a necessary precaution. Either she or Henry were here most of the time, and most people still avoided Rumpelstiltskin like he carried the plague.

Still, that little voice again spoke up, and Belle couldn't quite bring herself to think about it being removed.

The Charmings were invited inside. And Belle was glad to see Killian wasn't with them. Her good terms with the pirate had rapidly deteriorated after five months of his ruthlessly supporting her decision to cut her husband out of her and Oliver's life, which she noticed was less supportive and more bad-mouthing and sneering at all the bad things that had happened to Rumple. It was a shame that she had only noticed that when she'd tried to seek advice from her friends when Rumpelstiltskin had slammed the door in her face.

Yes, the last person who should be in this room was Captain Hook.

The Charmings divided up, Emma and Snow going to Henry, Oliver meeting Cleo halfway to politely accept some ketchup, (which Belle thought she noticed him squirt it on a handful of Goldfish and eat them,) and David came over to Belle.

He cast a look towards Rumple lying in the bed and inhaled.

"I, ah, I really don't know what to say," he smiled. Well, winced. "How are you taking this?"

"Just...one step at a time, I guess?" Belle shifted. The mattress was somewhere between too hard and too soft, layers of padding over a thin mattress. The sheets didn't feel right and the hospital blanket felt stiff under her hands.

David nodded, folding his arms over his broad chest. Out of all of the town leaders, David was the only one who, so long as his children and wife were safe, didn't look at Rumpelstiltskin like he expected the man to kill them with a snap of his fingers. Oddly enough, he'd also been one of the few people Belle had found herself in the company of this past decade that encouraged the relationship between her and Rumple when it was doing well.

He'd said once that she was family, and so was Rumple. They deserved to be happy, together or apart, whichever they decided worked best.

Belle wished she'd had more friends like him eight months ago...

"That's sometimes all you can do," he said sagely. "It's better than nothing at all, at least. How's Oliver?"

"He's a little better, now that Rumple woke up. But we're going to see Archie tomorrow. I think I'll ask if he wants to stay home from school today, it doesn't seem right to make him go back when all this is going on."

David nodded again. "That sounds like a good idea. Um, Neal and Snow mentioned something about a fight Friday. Is that where..." he gestured to his own face, in the same vicinity Oliver had that bruise darkening his pale skin.

"Oh, yes. I never actually got to address that before...this, but how is Neal?"

"Well he lost a loose tooth, and has a pretty impressive black eye. He keeps saying Oliver bit him but it looks more like a scrape to me. Probably about the same as Oliver, actually," David shrugged, then pursed his lips. "I'd like to apologize for him."

"There's no need, really-" Belle started.

"No, there is," he protested. "Snow and I have always tried to do the right thing and we've always raised Neal to be proud that he'll lead the town someday like us. But he's not descended from perfect heroes, and we shouldn't have focused on all the good without acknowledging the bad. He admitted that Oliver confronted him over some things he was saying about you and Gold, I'm not sure what, and that he was the first to throw a punch when Oliver said something about how if heroes were so perfect than no one in town is one."

Hmm...that made sense. Oliver was not a violent boy. Sulky at times, snappish, but not violent. And clever enough that he wouldn't pick a fight with older, bigger Neal. It was also a sad commentary on how the most praised and celebrated citizens of Storybrooke had reared their offspring as opposed to the son of the Dark One that had spent his life being bounced back and forth between parents every weekend.

"It's alright, I'm sure you'll get him straight," Belle smiled. Because she could never really bring herself to be mad at the Charmings for long, and even then, it was more of a sulk. "Thank you for coming to see us."

"Well, I think if we didn't come in today, Snow was going to storm the hospital," David chuckled. "She's been wanting to ride down here as soon as Henry didn't return her message. I am not looking forward to when our three start driving."

Belle smiled again, although not as widely as she would have ordinarily. The light talk of how their children with David had cheered her up a bit, and it was nice to know that even when she'd been ignoring the problems between Neal and Oliver, _he_ had acknowledged them. She found she could even go into a few anectedotes involving Rumple that didn't hurt her too much to share. Just as she was coming to the end of one amusing tale where Oliver had attempted to eat a rose Gold had given her on their first Mother's Day, there was a muffled curse from the door.

The field of light was rippling away, but Belle could still see who was standing there.

Her father...

* * *

Emma and Snow weren't quite sure what the protocol was here, and neither was he, so Henry was willing to give them points for trying. Violet sat very still beside him, her hand in his, and Henry wished, not for the first time, that they hadn't thought she was pregnant and they hadn't tried to be responsible by telling his mothers and his mothers hadn't acted like bat-shit crazy people.

Oddly enough, Violet was warming back to Regina faster than Emma. Likely because Regina had been the first to swallow her pride and attempt an apology, at the animal shelter. Violet said it wasn't a very good one and she could hardly choke the words out, but she had tried very hard to do so. That counted. Emma he wasn't sure ever _actually_ apologized to Violet, and if she had, it had taken her so long and Hook tended to say so much bullshit that it was taking longer for that bridge to be rebuilt.

"Regina said she'd sent over some food?" Snow had started after the _"are you okay's"_ had been finished. "That's good. I was thinking about sending you something too, have any requests? A casserole, a pie, soup, tacos?"

Henry almost laughed. He hadn't really enjoyed tacos since the day he stopped and thought and realized what his maternal grandparents had been up to when he was ten, freshly returned from the grocery store with Emma and a taco kit for a potluck dinner. It had not gone unnoticed that Emma hadn't touched a taco either, and the face she made and the look she traded with Henry made him think that, maybe, they could be okay again. In time.

"I wouldn't mind if you made that ham and cheese casserole, if you're offering," Henry said. "Thanks Grandma."

Snow had smiled, pleased that she could be of help. The whole debacle that had involved Violet and his employment with his paternal grandfather had really taken a toll on her most of all, because she'd always wanted her family to be close and content. Henry never quite managed to voice his opinion that if she and Grandpa David hadn't put so much pressure on Emma to be The Savior, and hadn't let her marry Hook simply because she said he made her happy when they'd only been together for like three months, or ostracized Rumpelstiltskin because he didn't have a sterling reputation, or spoil Neal, then maybe they _could_ be a happy family.

But some things were just too harsh to say to your grandmother that had a face like a sweet-tempered bunny.

Emma had tentatively asked, perhaps in an attempt to change the subject from the depressing elephant in the room, how the animal shelter was doing. Violet politely replied it was doing very well. And that they had just found a litter of puppies in the woods and half were adopted already. (People, it seemed, couldn't come and go from Storybrooke whenever they pleased, but stray dogs and feral cats and all manner of wildlife did.) The shelter also functioned as the town vet and Archie had just brought his own not-quite-a-puppy, a black-and-white mutt he'd named Figaro because he had yipped and yowled in a pseudo-operatic manner when he'd first adopted him, in to get fixed.

Talk of dogs went well, until Cleo clambered up on Henry's lap and asked her mother if she could have a puppy. And what was wrong with Figaro that had to be _fixed_.

Which was a conversation no one wanted to have with a seven-year-old girl in a canary-yellow sweater in a hospital room for a comotose grandfather. Or perhaps that was just Henry...

While Emma put Cleo off on all subjects canine, Henry spared a glance at Oliver. He was wiping a hand off on his jeans, looking quiet but not uncomfortable. Good. Belle seemed to cheer up a bit, talking to Henry's other grandfather about children. She wasn't smiling as bright, it didn't quite reach her eyes, but she looked at ease. Also good.

She was telling the tale of how, on her first Mother's Day as a mother, Gold had presented her with a pink rose and Oliver promptly tried to eat it off the stem. It was a good memory, but before the tale could end with how trying it had been to get a one-year-old to spit out the petals, there was a cuss and the field rippled in front of the door.

Moe French was standing there, looking perturbed by the force field blocking his entrance into the room.

All semblance of comfort vanished from Belle and Oliver, the latter folding in on himself as he slunk to stand by his father, while Belle visible grew rigid. It was something Henry had noticed in recent years. Whenever Moe was around, Belle tensed up, her expressions forced and her tone painfully neutral. She insisted they were on good terms, but she never _looked_ good around the man.

"Papa, what are you doing here?" Belle asked in that neutral tone that was neither positive or negative.

"I came to see you. You weren't at the library and then I saw this morning's paper, so I figured you were somewhere in here," he paused then, waving a hand in front of the field so it rippled to life. "How the devil did you get in there?"

"Did you need something, Papa?" Belle tried to ask again, slipping off the bed and coming to stand in front of the door. "What is it you want to see me about?"

Moe glanced suspiciously at the hospital bed. Or maybe at Oliver. They were both standing there. Maybe it was both? Either way, when the lord-turned-florist returned his attention to Belle, he said, "Let's talk about this outside. Privately."

Belle bit her lip. "Can it wait? I'd like to stay here for a while."

"Belle, just a few minutes, that's all I ask."

"Papa-"

"She said she wants to stay here," Oliver chimed in, setting his jaw in a way that reminded Henry very much of Belle in that moment. "It's about my father anyway, isn't it?"

"Why don't you teach him to speak when spoken to?" Moe grumbled to Belle, ignoring Oliver entirely. "It made things much easier back in the old world."

Henry was of the opinion it made things easier for selfish adults in the old world that didn't want their offspring to have a say. Which suited Sir Maurice perfectly, come to think of it.

Belle took a breath. "I'll talk to you later this afternoon Papa, alright? I'll come by the shop."

Moe seemed displeased by that. "It's important, Belle, it can't _wait_ until this afternoon."

It was disappointing, really, watching Belle fold like she did. She gave one last look to Gold in the bed, and then said, "Just a few minutes, that's all the time I have."

And she left, headed down the hall.

Sometimes Henry felt very guilty for being so cold to Emma. But then he'd look at Belle and her father and think he'd done the right thing in making them both work for a solution rather than giving her a free pass to stomp all over him just because they were blood.

Looking at Oliver's face falling as Belle left the room, he couldn't help but feel she spent so much time trying to please everyone she was forgetting who was most important in her life...


	9. Chapter 9

Belle hadn't expected her father to show up here.

It slipped her mind to tell him where she'd be, really. But then again, if the Charmings were, here, word had already travelled fast around Storybrooke. By now everyone probably was aware of Rumple's situation...which suddenly made the wards on his home and door look a lot wiser. However, that did not necessarily explain what her father wanted.

There was a little waiting room with couches against the low wall under the windows, at the end of the hall. That was where Papa stopped her and he looked back down the hall once before giving her The Look.

Belle lost track of times she'd seen The Look, and she hated it every time. It was The Look that he gave her when she tried to tell him that the baby Ogre was harmless, The Look met her when he informed her she should marry Gaston to save their people, The Look he gave her when he dropped her in a minecart to "save her", and generally The Look only came around when he felt she was being a silly little girl despite her being thirty-seven this year.

But, on the other hand, The Look had come around when he was trying to protect her from the horrific truth of what happened to her mother at the hands of the Ogres that invaded the library. And The Look showed up when she made her deal with Rumpelstiltskin. There was a chance that Papa could have her best interests at heart here.

So, she waited for him to speak, which he did.

"Belle, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Why are you here?" Papa repeated, looking around at the hospital. "There's no reason for you to be here, to be waiting on that man to wake up. You aren't married anymore-"

"Yes, we are," Belle reminded him. She and Rumple had either been hopeful or foolish enough not to sign divorce papers, so technically, yes, they were still married. "And even if we weren't, Rumple is the father of my child, and Oliver loves him. I won't just take him away, not now."

A little voice at the back of her mind sneered that it hadn't stopped her when Rumple needed help before, but she tried to bit that back in her Archie box for tomorrow. Or maybe never.

Papa shook his head, his mouth tightening in that way that let Belle know he was winding up to a fight. "It hardly matters, does it? He's unconscious know, and do you really want to expose your son to that kind of man if he does wake up?"

"Papa-"

"He's a _suicide_ , Belle, d'you know what sort of people commit suicides? Cowards and madmen. And do you really want to send Gold the wrong message by being here?"

"And what message would that be?" Belle asked incredulously. "That I don't want him dead? That I want him in our son's life?"

"It might do the boy some good to be separated from that coward," Papa huffed, spitting _'that coward'_ out like a curse. "But what do you honestly have to gain by being here, Belle? He shut you out, he doesn't want you anymore. You made the right decision in cutting him out of your life, and I won't see you ruin it on the grounds of sentimentality! Why don't you leave the boy with Henry, and I'll take you home. You look tired."

Belle rubbed the heel of her palm against her eyelids. "I appreciate your concern Papa, but I'm not leaving. Now is that all you wanted to tell me?"

Papa scowled at her, then, throwing up his hands.

"You are making a mistake, Belle. Mark my words. Every time that bastard gets ahold of your heart, you let him ruin everything. This time don't say I didn't warn you!"

And he stomped off, leaving Belle alone.

She found herself slumping on one of the sofas and holding her aching head in her hands as her father's footsteps faded down the hall. She was tired. She was hungry, even though her stomach was twisted in knots.

What was she expecting, really? For Papa to offer to mind the library while she was here? For him to ask if she was okay, or if Rumple or Oliver were? Her father hated Rumpelstiltskin with a purple passion, and while Belle felt in her heart that he loved Oliver, just the fact that his grandson was half Rumple's spawn had cast a shadow over what could have been a healthy relationship.

And yes, everytime they opened up to each other, she was opening herself up for another disappointment. For the past, long three years, every time Rumple tried to open himself to her, invited her in, she slammed the door shut and turned away because of the long list of disappointments he'd handed her before.

Her father wanted her to believe that was all Rumple's fault. That he waited to hurt her everytime she accepted him back. And yet...and wasn't this terrifying to realize in the middle of a hospital with tears stinging the back of her eyelids, the man himself down the hall in a hospital bed?

When was the last time she actually let him in? Four years ago? Five? Six?

She couldn't remember.

And that was what made her cry until a small shape burrowed under her arm and suddenly she was squeezing Oliver tight. Belle buried her face in her son's soft, sandy brown hair and wept for the ten years she knew had been wasted by lack of faith in each other on both sides.

* * *

David found mother and son curled up on a sofa at the end of the hall, Belle sobbing and holding Oliver while the boy just clung to her mutely, and he left them alone.

This turn of events was neither expected nor wanted, as far as David was concerned. No one in town talked about it, but everyone had noticed the leaps Gold had made over three years. He seemed lighter. Calmer. More put together. People who were willing to see past old prejudices would grudgingly admit that Belle and Gold might actually work things out this time.

Still, Snow and Emma were firmly convinced Belle was too good for Gold, that he'd made too many mistakes, but then...they never really talked to Belle. Snow would occasionally chat about children with the librarian, and they were all guilty of using Belle as a research team of one...but did they really know her at all? The popular opinion was that she was better off without Gold, but whenever they were broken up, Belle seemed to look... _less_.

Not exactly thinner, or paler, maybe. Just less present, more willing to talk about shallow things rather than what she was thinking or feeling. If anyone asked her she'd say she was alright...but she never looked it.

Three months ago, when she allowed Oliver permission to see his father again, apparently Belle tried to reconcile with Gold. And he slammed the door in her face and said he was done with her. She was understandably troubled by that, but what had troubled David was how everyone else acted.

To Regina's credit, though perhaps to her fault as well, she'd been taking strides to make amends in the face of everything Zelena had done to the town. Starting with Gold. To Belle personally, she had stopped calling her "bookworm" and had done a decent job in trying to assure her that Gold was just lashing out, like always, and that he just needed time to cool down. But Regina had her hands full with taking in Robbi and trying to draw her out of her shell, so she wasn't there to offer support for long.

Snow and Emma tried to pretend like nothing had changed. They counciled that Belle had been doing fine without Gold, and if he didn't want to accept her apology, too bad for him. Killian and Moe French took it a step farther and kept acting as if Gold had unleashed the Cauldron-Born and murdered citizens with his bare hands, painting him the villain even as Zelena languished in prison.

David had tried to be diplomatic. He agreed that she couldn't make Gold change his mind, but they had all caused him a lot of damage in the days after the Cauldron when he was fragile and stripped of his protections. David had always been terrible with words. He was a shepherd. He could dole out practical advice and tell you what a sick sheep looked like and when to fertilize your lawn, but he didn't know how to apologize for a mistake of this magnitude. It turned out to be something like: _"We're sorry about all this, Gold, it was our mistake. You can go now."_

That, unsurprisingly, hadn't cut it. For a few weeks after that, Henry had been frostily polite to them, and David really couldn't blame his grandson for that. They'd screwed up. They took the easy way out in crucifying Gold rather than investigating for evidence of a real culprit. Who turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Zelena, and it was finally agreed the safest place for her was in the asylum. Robbi was allowed a Sunday visitation and Archie went down every other day to talk outside her door (he never wanted to go inside, which was smart,) and try to council her, but admitted mostly Zelena just liked the sound of her own voice and believed herself to be the victim in all this.

The only lasting victims were the families of the ones who died at the Cauldron-Born's hands and Gold, who the last time David saw looked like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

Henry had thawed enough over the past few months to mention that Gold wasn't sleeping, and hardly ate anything. He had called David-who was, in Henry's own words, the only maternal relative he could trust not to go bat-shit over his paternal grandfather,-and asked if he would swing by Archie's office and take Gold home. Apparently he'd called Henry and said that he needed a ride because his car had two flat tires.

David oblidged, and now he regretted not acting on what he found.

The car had been vandalized across the side facing the sidewalk. Two of the tires had the valve caps taken off and were largely deflated. It was a malicious prank, more than anything. At least the tires would've made you think that, if it weren't for the harassment spray-painted along the side. But the worst was Gold.

Gold was just sitting in the backseat with a white-knuckle grip on his cane, his face pale and his eyes wide. He jumped when David knocked on the door and didn't even fuss when David had to help him climb into the cab of his rusty red truck.

The entire ride home, Gold was silent. He stared at the handle of the cane he'd had to start using again, his eyes bloodshot over dark circles and deep lines David had never noticed before. His hair was turning stark white rather than the silver color with a bit of brown at the top it had been. And David wondered if that was his age catching up with him...or stress eating him alive.

In hindsight? The latter.

Gold looked confused when David asked if he wanted to press charges. He seemed baffled that David would offer him help without a favor. He shook his head and went back to staring off into space until they arrived at the pink mansion, where Gold rolled out the car and shut the front door.

It would be the last time anyone saw him off his property in a month.

He was more frayed and damaged by the past year's worth of events than anyone, even Henry or Oliver, had realized. Archie was going to have his work cut out with the whole family, he thought, when Belle and Oliver finally returned to the room.

Within an hour of their arrival, Emma's phone beeped and she scowled. She didn't say who it was, but she took Cleo's hand and gave a tight smile to Henry. "I have to go. Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it."

The look on Henry's face made David suspect that he knew _exactly_ who was texting her away. (Who David wasn't so happy with these days either.) He gave a neutral _"sure"_ and Emma and Cleo left. It wasn't long before Snow and he both ran out of things to say, and David squeezed his grandson's shoulder.

"We're gonna head out too. If there's any trouble, just remember you have family members in law enforcement," he smiled.

Henry smiled back and nodded. "I will. Thanks Gramps, Grandma."

Snow went in for a hug, and gave one to Violet too. She gave one to Belle and Oliver each, too, and promised them a casserole of their own. Oliver looked suspicious and David could almost tell he was thinking, _'Why are you being so nice?'_

"Oh, Snow?" Belle added. "Is it okay if Oliver stays home tomorrow? I, um...I think it would be best."

"Of course," she smiled. "I'll bring that casserole by tomorrow at the library, alright?"

"Yes, thank you," the librarian smiled back, weaker. Belle's eyes were still red and she looked like the wind had been knocked out of her since she came back into the room. David decided she needed another hug and he offered his hand to Oliver to shake.

The boy looked up at him with a suspicious tilt of his head that made David think of glittering imps and deals and dour pawnbrokers.

He still shook hands, saying politely, "Goodbye Mr. Nolan."

"Bye Oliver. I hope your dad gets well soon."

"Yup."

They left the hospital room and David couldn't shake a feeling of guilt gnawing at his skin. It wasn't a lie, really. Because he did want Gold to be better. He knew what it was like to grow up without a father, he wouldn't wish that on anyone. But the reason his wife and daughter had come down to the hospital was for Henry. They hadn't expected to see Belle or Oliver there, and in all honesty, neither had David.

Even after the advice he, Regina, and unless he was mistaken, Leroy and Astrid, had given her, Belle dithered and lingered, never quite approaching Gold. Everyone had assumed they'd get on with their lives. Obviously they hadn't.

* * *

There was always labor to be done around Storybrooke. Something was always being broken, or needed doing, lifting, or in some cases, digging. But between incidents and repair work, Leroy returned to his cursed job as a night janitor in Storybrooke General Hospital. It had a steady paycheck and surprisingly decent healthcare, which had become important since he had a family and a house now.

Sometimes it was still weird to think a misfit dwarf had actually married a misfit fairy, and now had a house with a yard and three kids.

But Storybrooke was weird in general, so, meh.

The front page of the newspaper this Sunday had loudly declared: **GOLD'S SUICIDE; Failed attempt sparks countless questions about most powerful man in town.** Leroy had snorted at the "most powerful man" description, because anyone who had encountered Gold since The Black Cauldron would call him the most _traumatized_ man in town. While he had never exactly been best buddies with the man, Leroy knew Gold couldn't have done that. For one thing, it lacked the refinement of his typical schemes. Zombies running the street? What was the point?

And for another thing: Leroy had seen Gold and Henry walk by him on the street maybe three minutes before the green smoke appeared. He couldn't have done it if he wasn't even in the graveyard...and if he did, he would've put Henry, Oliver, and Belle somewhere safe first.

Gold, Rumpelstiltskin, whatever you called him, his family always came first and foremost. He had been less surly through therapy, but it was obvious his son, grandson, and whatever the hell Belle was to him these days were the only people he'd let in. Although a case could be made for a few children, like Garrick Booth, and Leroy's own daughter.

Opal was a miraculous little thing, in her father's opinion. She had Astrid's pretty face and dark brown eyes and curls, but she was short and sturdy like a dwarf. Her best friends in the world were Garrick Booth and Oliver Gold. Leroy was rather surprised that Gold was so good with those children, (but hell, he was Grumpy, and he had three kids,) but Opal had absolutely no fear of the man.

She had spent her day making what she declared was a "I hope you'll be okay" card for Oliver and Belle. She said she'd make one for Gold, too, when he woke up. Word Leroy overhead when he signed in was that Gold had already woken up once, and was likely to be fully conscious either tomorrow or Tuesday.

Good, good.

Maybe he and Belle could _talk_ then.

Leroy loved Belle like a sister dwarves didn't have. Anybody who couldn't like her was either an idiot or heartless, because Belle got on with everyone and never had a bad thing to say...even when they deserved it. Like Moe French. Leroy never really discouraged he and Astrid's four-(and a half-)year-old twin sons from shop-picking some of the flowers in the florists' case whenever they were in there, because Moe was a dick who didn't deserve a daughter like Belle. It was petty, true, but so was Moe. He hated his grandson because he was a quiet bookworm. Screw him.

When word got around that Belle broke things off after The Black Cauldron, that and the surety that Gold was the worst citizen in Storybrooke were what convinced the masses he was guilty. That meant he was guilty, right? No, no it didn't. Then three months ago when she tried to unburn that bridge, Gold slammed the door in her face and she had gone around to her friends looking for advice.

There were two camps: One was _screw Gold and move on like you were doing_ , the other was _give him time to process before you talk it out_.

It said a lot about the kind of "friend" you were, to advise Belle to go back to giving Gold the cold-shoulder over nothing when Leroy even couldn't remember the last time Belle was happy. Oh, she always smiled, always lent a sympathetic ear and helped where she could, but she wasn't _happy_. That little light was dim in her eyes and her smiles were thin, shallow things. The last time she looked remotely like Belle, had been three years ago or so, back when she thought she and Gold were on the right track again.

Leroy might not be the former Dark One's biggest fan, and he'd always stand by Belle's choices as her friend. But she never made a choice. She just dithered and demurred and ducked and all kinds of evasive D words to avoid the big decision. Another D word. Damn.

Grabbing his mop and rolling bucket, Leroy set to work on the floors first as was his routine. From time to time his thoughts drifted back to Belle. And to Oliver. And Henry, sometimes, because he wouldn't be taking this well. And once in a while, he thought about Gold directly. No one had seen him in down for weeks. Some people thought he was dead, but according to Henry, he was just reluctant to leave his property after someone vandalized his Cadillac.

(Who? Hard to say. Lots of passive-aggressive harassment happened to Gold these days, at his shop or at the pink house, from burning bags of dog crap to rude limericks taped to doors or slipped in mailslots. Even Neal Nolan and his company had done a haiku in chalk on the sidewalk outside his shop that went _'Once a shiny imp, now an old man with a limp, Mr. Gold the gimp'_ but were never held responsible.)

Eventually, Leroy came across the room "the gimp" had been set up in now that he didn't need the life-support systems or stomach pumper thing. (All the years he'd worked her, and Leroy still didn't know what the hell the machines did other than which went bing and which went beep, and which ones clicked irritatingly.) Curiosity won out, and, sticking his mop in the bucked, he peered inside the room.

It was dark, of course. The curtains were drawn back a little, some watery moonlight beaming in enough to make out the shapes of things.

And just enough to put a faint shine in Gold's open eyes as he stared at the wall across from him.

Leroy paused, and Gold's eyes flicked towards him dully. He didn't look...right. Lying in a hospital gown under the blanket sheet, catatonic and glassy-eyed. This was just about the most uncomfortable Leroy had been in either of his lives, and he'd done and seen some pretty weird shit over the years. Then Gold blinked once.

"I'm not dead. Am I?" he asked in a monotone that betrayed nothing.

"Uh...no."

"Hospital room?"

"Yep."

"Mm..." Gold hummed, closing his eyes. "I thought so, though I could have been dreaming earlier..."

"Right...uh," Leroy stuck his head back into the hall and spotted a nurse coming down from the end of the hall. "I'm just gonna grab a nurse, okay? I'll be right back."

Gold replied with another disinterested noise, neither awake, nor asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F*** CANON WITH A BIG F***ING F***STICK I SAID!
> 
> Or--
> 
> The chapter where Archie gets part of the Rumbelle clan in for therapy to start addressing many issues. This time it's just Belle and Oliver. Oh--and apply the same treatement to canon to Zelena as a whole. Thank you.

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't certain if he'd dreamed up his encounter with Leroy or not last night. He wasn't aware of much really until the next morning when he was woken up by a nurse changing his IV bag. Apparently he was dehydrated. Huh.

The nurse gave a little shriek and went running for a doctor, (probably Whale...) and Rumpelstiltskin just lay still in the bed and allowed the poking and prodding to happen when the medical professionals returned.

_He wasn't dead._

It figures his suicide would be thwarted. As a peasant spinner no one would have cared but Bae if he were to "pop off" from existence. As the Dark One he had been too focused on finding his boy again...after Zelena he'd clung to Belle, his last light in the dark, until he'd snuffed that out with his clinging. At the moment when he had nothing to lose and everyone had everything to gain; _Of course_ he'd be thwarted.

The idea that Henry, or worse, Oliver, had been the one to find him made Rumpelstiltskin feel nauseous, sitting up in the elevated hospital bed and watching the door with dread. That sickly feeling got worse when Henry came hurrying through the door and flung his arms around him. The lad had a solid five inches on Rumpelstiltskin these days, brushing six feet tall and sturdier than his paternal grandfather had ever been. It hurt a little, actually, being held so tightly, but not too badly...

Henry pushed him back, grasping him by his shoulders, and gave Rumpelstiltskin a onceover with his eyes. Well, a thrice-over, really.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding unusually small and young. "Does anything...are you...you feel okay, Grandpa?"

Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't know how to answer if he could squeeze words past that lump in his throat. He couldn't talk. It felt like there was a hand wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air. He, renowned for word-play and turns of phrase, couldn't speak, couldn't so much as think of speaking.

And he thanked whatever god was out there that Henry didn't say anything more, just nodded, and hugged him tightly again.

The lump didn't go away. Once Henry did let him go to sit in a chair near the bed, Rumpelstiltskin still hadn't found his voice. When Henry asked if he was hungry he could only shrug, because he was hungry, but he didn't feel like he could eat anything. He felt stupid and weak when his grandson had resorted to opening this little paper menu on the bedside table and reading off breakfast options. They had a bowl of oatmeal. Oatmeal sounded okay, so he nodded to that.

And if he felt stupid and weak before, he felt positively helpless when Henry used the hospital phone to call in the order for one bowl of plain oatmeal, a glass of milk, and the little cup of fruit that came with every goddamn meal at the hospital, according to the menu.

Rumpelstiltskin was thankful for the small mercy in his being able to feed his own damned self. That was a humiliation he wasn't willing to bear, for himself or Henry.

The oatmeal tasted like a lumpy cardboard puree. That was actually the first thing he was able to say:

"This tastes like pureed cardboard."

Henry had sampled a bit for himself and pulled a face, which led Rumpelstiltskin to suspect it wasn't just his despondent mood making it taste so bad. The entire little package of honey it came with hadn't done a thing for the flavor, so Henry had gone down to the cafeteria to quickly find some more. Rumpelstiltskin nibbled half-heartedly on a slice of strawberry, sort of amazed his stomach wasn't twisted in knots. Maybe that would come later once the reality set in...whatever reality _this_ was.

Four more packets of honey and one packet of sugar later, the oatmeal finally tasted like it was a food rather than something used to patch holes in walls. Rumpelstiltskin had eaten three-quarters of the bowl, drank the whole glass of milk, and another slice of strawberry. That was all he could stomach and the oatmeal had become cold.

Henry ate the rest of the fruit and at about a quarter to ten, after a nurse popped in to draw a blood sample and whisk away the food tray, Rumpelstiltskin recieved another visitor.

Dr. Hopper.

That oatmeal weighed heavily in his stomach at the first sighting of red hair.

"Hi Archie," Henry said, rocking back on the back legs of his chair. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a few patients in the hospital," Hopper replied with a small smile, quick to reassure; "I'm not here as a therapist, really. Not today, although I thought I should tell you that you'll probably see me tomorrow. Standard procedure."

"Yeah, Whale said something about that," Henry nodded. "Would you like to sit down?"

"No, no, I won't be here long. Just dropping by to say hi, really, and let you know you can come to me if you need me. For more than therapy, I should add."

Henry smiled, but Rumpelstiltskin just looked down at the blanket over his lap. Great, now the cricket pitied him. It was...very admirable, for him to offer his well-meaning assistance to Henry, but all Rumpelstiltskin himself wanted was to find a nice, dark hole somewhere to curl up and die from shame.

He had never known anyone in his 300 years that survived a suicide. He had seen the aftermath, but he'd never seen what happens when someone failed at it. No scar around their neck from a rope or sickly side effects of ingested poisons.

And despite arguably being pathetic, Rumpelstiltskin had never responded well to pity. It made him feel smaller and weaker than however small and weak he was at any given time. As a child, people had pitied the little waif for having such a terrible father, doomed to a terrible future. Pity was rare when he returned a coward from the front, but what there was had been intolerable, well-intentioned clucking and fussing that filled him with humiliation. Pity was likely the only reason, for the longest time, Belle kept coming back to his side before he pushed her too far. The idea of her pity now, of Henry's, of his son's, was stomach-turning enough. But the pity of total strangers that only knew his name?

That was more shame than Rumpelstiltskin could bear, and he was thankful he hadn't eaten his whole bowl of oatmeal or it might be violently ejected from his knotting stomach now.

Henry was talking to him. Crap. What did he say?

"P-pardon?" he asked quietly. Hopper didn't say anything about his distraction and Henry, bless the lad, only repeated himself.

"I said do you want Oliver to come see you?" Henry said. "He's not in school today, Belle thought it might be a bit much to have to put up with. Gram kept _looking_ at Oliver, you know that look? Like she's really sorry for you but not sure what to say, so she says something anyway and it's too much?"

Rumpelstiltskin knew just the look. He'd gotten it after her charming husband, daughter, and son-in-law finally released him from jail.

"I don't...feel up to visitors, today..." he said slowly, knowing that much to be true. He wasn't sure if anyone had found his will and those letters her left behind, but he couldn't bear to look his son in the eyes if Oliver had already read that note. "M-maybe tomorrow."

"I'm seeing him later this afternoon, would you like me to tell him anything?" Hopper offered.

 _'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'_ "Tell him I'll see him tomorrow, if he'd like."

Hopper nodded and, gently reminding Henry once more that he was there to help, said his goodbyes and headed off down the hall. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't noticed he was picking at the plastic hospital bracelet looped around his wrist and tried to stop when Henry leaned forward in his chair.

"I'm gonna call Belle and fill her in, okay? Is there anything you want me to say?"

To her, or to Oliver? To both?

"I-I can't think of anything..."

Henry looked at him for a long minute, then nodded like he'd been satisfied with that answer. He squeezed Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder before he walked out the room, leaving Rumpelstiltskin alone with his fuzzy thoughts and a churning stomach.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

* * *

After two adults came to Oliver in the library Monday morning to say they were sorry to hear about Papa and stared like Oliver should say something back, he went upstairs back to their apartment instead. The apartment looked the same as it did on Friday, and that didn't feel right, but the idea of having strangers who didn't really care tell him they did was even less appealing.

Henry called early in the morning to say Papa was awake again. He wasn't up to visitors that day, but tomorrow maybe. That was good...right?

It felt like what Oliver imagined having a loaded gun in his lap was like. Heavy, lethal when handled incorrectly, and he did not want to drop it. It sat there all day long, all throughout lunch, (at Granny's, where everyone gave them pitying looks and Oliver wanted to stab Hook with his fork when he clapped his shoulder and said, _"Hang in there lad!"_ which brought Ruby over to push him aside,) and well into the afternoon.

Because on the one hand, Oliver needed to see his dad, to verify he was really awake this time without doctors pushing him out the way.

On the other...what if Papa didn't really _want_ to see him?

The weight was still there, even on the surprisingly comfy leather couch in Archie's surprisingly cozy office. Mama was sitting outside in the waiting room with a book in her hands while Oliver sat in here, wishing he was someplace else.

Archie had said as soon as Oliver came inside that they could talk about anything weighing on his mind. And unless it was a danger to Oliver's health, even Mama didn't have to know exactly what that might be. Talking about _anything_ was almost as scary as promising anything, worse actually. Oliver had picked at the buttons on his shirt cuff, trying to come up with something until Archie came over and sat beside Oliver with a plastic thingie Oliver identified as a loom and a handful of colorful polyester loops that looked like the things girls tied up their hair with.

"This is something some people like to do, it helps sometimes if you don't have to watch me listening," Archie explained, showing Oliver how to stretch the loops across the loom. "Your father prefers to knit, but some people like stress balls, or a Rubik's cube, or one of those metal ring puzzles. Figaro is still a little hyper to be a therapy dog."

Oliver nodded, stretching a nice blue band across the hooks. He remembered Archie used to have a big, spotty dog named Pongo, until he got old and passed away. "So if Papa was coming to see you for so long, how come you couldn't fix him?"

"Well-" Archie paused, showing Oliver how to do the actual weaving. "You have to work the loops this way, over and under, yes. Ahem. Well, a therapist doesn't really _fix_ people. Not in the sense that I solve their problems. It's more my job to help people find the root of their problems, and give them the tools to fix it themselves. In your father's case, it's a very complex situation. He's got a lot of problems, and while I've hoped he's come to terms with some of them, this whole thing with the Black Cauldron has...complicated matters again."

"But he didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes," Archie nodded. "You see, a situation like this, it's...well, you see, sometimes...sometimes a person just can't cope. And the people closest to them, especially in cases like this where your father's going to live, his loved ones feel shocked. They will wonder why they couldn't help, or stop it from happening in the first place. It isn't their fault, sometimes these things just happen. It isn't right, it's unfair, and it makes you angry, but it still happens, and you can't change that."

"So...why couldn't you help Papa? Or couldn't you?"

That smile wobbled a bit, and Archie shrugged uncomfortably.

"I got hurt by a Cauldron Born, remember?" he explained slowly. "It took me a week to get out of the hospital and more time to get back on my feet, I didn't realize how badly those events affected your father until later. I can't _make_ someone better, as much as I might want them to _be_ better. Maybe I could have done more to address my concerns, I certainly meant to, but in the end it wasn't enough. Now I can try to help him find a new normal."

Oliver thought about that for a moment. When Papa started seeing Archie, Storybrooke started gossiping. (At least when Regina or, to people's surprise, Leroy, weren't around to tell them to shut up.) Someone said something almost positive about how it might do him some good to get some help. That's always what people called going to see a therapist. _Getting some help._ Help meant assistance, a little boost to get you there on your own, right?

"Can I help him?" he asked at length.

Archie seemed to consider that for a moment. "Well...you and Henry are going to be his biggest help, I think. As the people he loves, you should be there when he needs you, but you have to take care of yourselves, too. It's too easy to wear yourself into the ground trying to help a hurt loved one, especially when the hurt is mental and emotional rather than physical."

"Okay...what does that mean?"

"Well, it means you have to take care of your feelings too, in a way. So, how about we start with school. I've heard you're having a rough time with some bullies..." Archie gestured to his own face, reminding Oliver of his bruise. "So, would you like to start with that?"

Archie was nice. Oliver knew that Archie was genuinely, honestly _nice_ to everyone. He even tried to give Zelena some therapy, even though he didn't really like her. He hadn't even shunned Regina during her Evil Queen days, not once. Out of all the adults in town that weren't related to Oliver, Archie would be the one and only person that wouldn't judge him or get him in trouble if he talked about what a bully Neal Nolan was. He wouldn't defend the other kids while Oliver listed his complaints against them.

And yet, the words stuck in Oliver's throat. He turned back to the loom in his lap and fiddled with weaving a band through the taut strings.

"I-I'm different...I guess."

"You _are_ different, or they _treat you_ different?"

Oliver thought on that for a second. He'd always been held to a different standard, but things got bad after the Black Cauldron. Even though Papa hadn't done anything.

The very first bad incident had been the following week, with Tommy Herman shoving him into a mud puddle and smearing mud all over his face, and a teacher pulled Oliver inside to wash up and get scolded for "playing in the mud and throwing woodchips at Tommy" like it had been _his_ fault to start out. Opal had a dentist appointment that day, but when she heard what happened, she kicked Tommy in the shin. And he didn't dare tell anyone a _girl_ kicked him.

If only it had been called even after that...

Instead, Neal stole his lunchbox and tossed it over the fence so he hadn't eaten that day. And Oliver got in trouble for snapping too loudly "GO AWAY!" when his sister, Ruth, had come around so piously with a cup of applesauce and offered it to him for lunch. It was hard to tell if Ruth was actually trying to be nice or not...she was kinda simple in a way that she usually didn't mean to be cruel but stomped all over other people's toes if you stood out wrong.

"Treat me different, uh-huh."

"And your teachers?" Archie asked. "You're in the fourth grade, I believe. That's Snow White's class. Have you tried talking to her?"

Oliver tried not to make a face, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. Mrs. Nolan was Neal's mom. If Neal kicked a puppy, she'd say it wasn't his fault the puppy stumbled into his foot. She always had a ready excuse for her son, if Henry hadn't broken up their fight Friday at school, Oliver probably would've gotten blamed for instigating a fight. He was never overly fond of Mrs. Nolan. She was nice, sometimes, but she was overwhelmingly shallow, and nothing Papa ever did was good enough for her. As his son, Oliver supposed he'd never measure up either.

"No."

Archie waited a beat, then nodded. "And there isn't any adult you could talk to? Your parents maybe?"

"Mama always says to ignore them..." Oliver said slowly. His mother was in the next room, so he couldn't quite spit out the words: _'She always says that, but it never works, so why does she say that and to forgive them later?'_

Maybe Archie could read minds, because he only nodded again. "Well, in my experience, ignoring a person is only a temporary solution. A victim of bullying is never at fault for the cause, and some of the most common advice is the least effective, and sometimes can be damaging."

"Yeah," Oliver shrugged, looking down at the potholder he was weaving. At least he _thought_ it was a potholder...

"Have you spoken to your father about your issues at school?"

Only once. There'd always been little things, but Oliver and his friends didn't have glamorous parents and they didn't fit in with the other kids so he expected that, and could talk to Papa about it...until the Black Cauldron.

Then, even when he _could_ see Papa, he'd been so upset Oliver didn't want to make him feel worse. When he'd gotten kept after school for telling Robbi Mills to pull the broomstick out of her ass when she was picking on Opal one day, (again, like Ruth, you could never tell if Robbi was being stupid or mean, and there was a difference,) Papa had to come down to the school because Mama was right in the middle of a doctor's appointment and hadn't answered her phone.

Papa had turned white as a sheet and dragged Oliver out the room despite Mrs. Nolan's protests, and Henry had gotten furious. It was something about Robbi's mom being in the room, and Mrs. Nolan not thinking to tell Papa that. Oliver wasn't sure what Zelena had done, but he never liked her. While Robbi _could_ be nice, her mother was just...creepy. Mama didn't like her either. She had firmly told Oliver that he should never be alone with Zelena because she was not a safe adult. Maybe that was why Papa pulled them away from the school, but Oliver was never comfortable with discussing his problems with either of his parents after that.

"No. I talk to Henry sometimes," Oliver said when Archie didn't press for more details. "It's kinda weird 'cause he's my nephew and he's like thirteen years older than me, but he's got two moms, two other kid uncles, and Papa's his dad's dad, so I can live with it. He's pretty smart."

Archie hummed thoughtfully and asked a few more questions,- _did he often get into physical confrontations? Did he have any friends at school he could rely on? What had he done with his off-day from school today?_ -before he stood up and stretched. (Archie was really kind of tall.) Oliver had tried to answer all the questions appropriately,- _no, he didn't fist-fight much, he was too small. He could rely on Opal and Garrick. Mostly read Knitting for Dummies because he was hoping to surprise Mama with a blanket for Mother's Day and didn't think Papa would want to teach him now_ ,-and it was the last answer that made Archie make that thoughtful little sound again.

"You know, your father might like teaching you how to knit. He might appreciate a distraction," Archie said. "In my opinion, pulling away from your father isn't something either of you need right now. Which isn't to say you need to spend all your time together."

Okay, now Oliver was confused. And it must've showed because Archie smiled kindly.

"Oliver, do you think your father doesn't want to see you today because you've done something wrong? Or do you think it could be because he might feel guilty?"

The note that Papa had left on the bed crossed Oliver's mind: _'I'm being very selfish, I know, and if you hate me for this, I understand. I'm just so tired, my boy, and I feel this is the price I have to pay for making everything stop. Don't blame yourself, or anyone but me. This was my choice, no matter how right, or more likely, how wrong it is.'_

"But if he didn't want to... _this_ ," Oliver made an all-encompassing circle gesture with his hand. "Why would he do it at all?"

"The short answer would be that he wasn't thinking clearly," Archie explained, sitting behind his desk and jotting something down. "Your father has had a difficult life from what I know, he's struggling with over three hundred years of history. Do you know what depression is?" Oliver shook his head. "There are multiple types of depression, but the kind your father has is tied to post-traumatic stress disorder. Have you ever noticed that certain sounds and situations make him nervous or upset? That's anxiety, which is another sympton. The depression makes you feel like...like you can't do anything. It's like something is keeping you down, keeping you from doing what you want to do. Sometimes you can't even get out of bed, even if you _want_ to."

Oliver recalled a time or two when his father had slept in late. Very late. He'd been sluggish when he did get out of bed, but Oliver had thought he was just tired.

"And because you feel so down about yourself," Archie continued. "Sometimes you wonder why you're alive. Those are called suicidal thoughts, and I believe those are what your father had that led him to this attempt. And the unfortunate thing about suicidal thoughts is that no one can help you if you don't communicate those thoughts and fears, because even the most trained therapist can't read minds."

While Oliver had an explanation...he didn't feel better for it. It actually felt more confusing for being out in the open like that. If that was possible...

* * *

Belle hadn't expected to have a good Monday, so she would settle for describing today as "it could have been worse" instead.

At least three-quarters of the library patrons today had wanted to say they were sorry. It had never irked Belle, how the inital reaction to hearing a tragedy was saying "I'm sorry" to the families or victims. Until today. The worst among them said more, like Ashley, were less invested in offering sympathies, even well-meaning-though-hollow ones, and more interested in turning up gossip.

It was like the town either expected her to be happy Rumple almost didn't make it, upset that he had, or prostrate with grief over the whole affair.

Oliver had wisely retreated upstairs and Belle didn't see a need to bring him down again until they went to Granny's for lunch. Ruby didn't really care about Rumple, but she and Granny had guarded their spot at the counter against anyone who wanted to approach them, and Ruby shooed off Killian when he tried to get...something out of Oliver? A reaction maybe?

"Hang in there lad! It's always darkest before the dawn," he winked, clapping Oliver on the shoulder. "Things'll work out for you and your mum, either way."

Oliver had looked like he was considering stabbing Killian with a fork for his thoughtless words and grin. Belle couldn't quite blame him. At least every other not-so-well-wisher had the decency not to look absolutely gleeful about the tragedy that happened to the father of her child. Even Belle's father hadn't gloated the way Killian's smile seemed to declare: _'Rumpelstiltskin almost died! Isn't that funny?'_

And Papa had called her up that morning, again, trying to dissuade her from getting involved. He'd reminded Belle of their many failed reconciliations, of how he was a liar, of how as a mortal man he was old, crippled, and mad. He wasn't _mad_ for committing suicide, but trying to tell Sir Maurice French of Avonlea to think differently was the same as telling a brick wall to move. Above all else, Papa was insistent that Belle keep her distance. He'd gotten it into his head she'd take pity on Rumple, thus being lured into the quagmire of his problems.

Papa had said _problems_ like it was a dirty word, like she was trying to help hide a body rather than...well, actually, Belle wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She wasn't convinced she needed therapy, exactly, but at least she could ask Archie for his opinion on what her options were.

Oliver spent almost an hour in Archie's office, and when he came out, he had a little potholder with him. Belle dimly recalled Archie saying he had a box of what were essentially toys to give patients something to do with their hands. Oliver slumped down in the chair near hers, and then Archie waved inside his office.

"Come on in Belle," he said.

So she did.

And she was even more sure she didn't belong there, sitting in one of the armchairs, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her skirt.

Archie was sitting across from her as he said, "Now, is there anything you'd like to start with? Anything at all."

Belle shifted in the chair. "Well...alright. I understand why you wanted to see Oliver, but why me? I'm not...there's nothing I really need to talk about. This is all very upsetting of course but..."

There was a long pause between the unfinished end of her sentence and Archie giving a reply. A very long, very incriminating sort of silence.

"Belle," Archie cleared his throat, looking down at the notepad in his hands. "I understand that you and Mr. Gold have a highly complicated history, and given the events of the last year alone, there are a lot of mixed feelings now especially. That's sort of why I wanted you to come see me, because I don't want you to blame yourself-"

"I'm not blaming myself," Belle shook her head, but her voice sounded automatic rather than genuine.

Across from her, the therapist only waited a beat. "I'm not saying you are, either. What I mean is that a suicide is a very disruptive event. From the victims perspective, should they survive it, there's a great amount of guilt in becoming a greater burden to their loved ones now. From the loved ones own perspective, there's their own guilt for not seeing a problem, and in not saving them, and even anger because the victim didn't come to them. Some studies have proven that a suicide sparks more suicides around it because the loved ones become depressed by extension, too-"

"Archie this isn't like that, I'm not-" Belle bit her lip, cutting herself off. "Did...did I push him into it? When...after the Cauldron...did he say anything to you about it?"

An uncomfortable look crossed Archie's face. "I can't say. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Just...was it bad?" she pressed.

"Uh...well...honestly I think the rejection was just one of many factors. I sort of dropped the ball in letting him go so long between sessions, he wasn't telling the whole truth, the town certainly didn't help with that angry mob and the harrassment, stacked on top of all his prexisting issues i-it was just a recipe for disaster, really."

Belle let that sink in. It was both worse than she thought...and numbing, in a way. _One of many factors._ She hadn't caused this, but she hadn't helped it, either. If Belle had read that right, she had been reduced to an issue in a thick stack of them pressing down on Rumple until he snapped. It was...strange.

Archie cleared his throat again, drawing her attention. "Now, what do you think your next step will be? I saw Mr. Gold is awake again, Henry's staying with him in the hospital right now. Will you be visiting tomorrow?"

"I, um, I don't think that's such a good idea," Belle shook her head. "Not...right away, at least."

The patient, expectant look the redhead gave Belle made her want to roll her eyes, but she manged to spit the words out anyway. Archie was lucky he was born with a face as wholesome and comforting as pie, it was the perfect therapist face to make people spill their guts.

"You know how the whole town was abuzz with our last, well not exactly _breakup_ but-Well it didn't happen exactly like the town gossip said it did."

"With you saying he could see Oliver, and then he slammed the door in your face when you apologized for the things you said in the hospital?" Archie clarified.

God, if it were that simple, they wouldn't be here right now.

"Yeah...I-I sort of apologized and suggest we try to get back together, and my timing was...poor, I suppose you could say." _'You could also say a housecat is basically the same as a Siberian tiger, which it is not.'_   "He stopped me short and rather explicitly stated that he was through trying to fix things. It was over. He was very upset, I think he only thought I wanted him back because he'd gotten rid of the Darkness. I...I won't say he didn't _mean it_ but I thought he might...I don't know what I thought."

"Well, did you want him back then?"

From anyone else, that would sound like a judgemental question, but from Archie, it sounded...well, just like a question. One Belle was a bit hesitant to answer because she wasn't sure how to.

"I...I was open to the possibility. I didn't really expect him to forgive me for five months of shrewishness in one moment, for keeping him away from his son and blaming him because he used to be the villain behind every story, but I thought...he wouldn't be that angry? That sounds stupid."

"No, not stupid," Archie shook his head. "That's how you felt at the time, that's exactly what I want to know. How you feel, what you were thinking, why you thought that. I told Oliver that I can't fix a person, Belle, because the only person who can really fix yourself _is_ yourself. I can give you tips and tools, but not a cure-all method."

Belle felt herself snort. "Did you tell Zelena that?"

Archie groaned. "I can say without disturbing doctor-patient confidentiality that she will stay imprisoned until she dies, and even then, her spirit might linger just to have the last word because nothing gets through that woman's skull to reach her warped brain. I mean, I'm willing to given everyone a chance and the benefit of a sympathetic ear, but if this were the old world? I wouldn't object to a firing squad, there's no helping the people that refuse to see what they've done as wrong and don't want to change."

"And what _could_ you tell me disturbing doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"God. I feel like going to Regina's house and hugging Robbi every time I get through with Zelena. And slapping everyone who thought it was a good idea to leave a mentally ill woman in charge of an infant's upbringing."

Belle felt her stomach turn, because she knew exactly what Archie meant.

She had nearly stabbed Zelena during one gathering at the Charming house when Oliver was still so young that he needed a nap. She came to check on him and the other babies dozing in a pen or on the bed in one room at Emma's house, and found Zelena petting Oliver's hair. Belle knew damn well what she'd done to Robin Hood, what she possibly had done to Rumple, and had instructed her son very clearly afterwards that he never had to let anyone touch him when he was uncomfortable, _especially_ Zelena.

And yet...they'd all left Robbi alone with her.

Thankfully, she was getting the help she needed now, and was starting to blossom under Regina's care. In a perfect world, Zelena would respond to therapy and make her own breakthroughs to reunite properly with her child, but obviously it was not a perfect world.

"Anyway, we could exchange stories like that at anytime," Archie said, breaking her chain of thoughts. "Now...how are you feeling, really?"

Belle shrugged. "Tired? Confused? I...I want to help, but I'm not sure if I can...or should. Like, like what if Rumple doesn't want me around? What if I make things worse?"

Archie nodded. "That's a valid concern. I think the best thing you can do for now is be available to help, maybe offer support from a distance until you can get a feel for the situation. I know that Oliver wants to be useful too, so maybe talk with Henry and figure something out if you're not comfortable talking with Gold yet."

"It's not that I'm uncomfortable, really, I'm just not sure...y'know? And Oliver, god, Archie. He loves his father more than anything in the world, and I feel like he...he sort of hates me for trying to protect him. All the love in the world Rumple feels doesn't stop him from doing these stupid things that hurt people he cares about, even when he's trying not to."

Archie gave a tired little smile that made Belle suspect he and Rumple had talked _at length_ about those stupid things. "I know. And I don't think Oliver _hates_ you really. Some children find it easier to relate to one parent than the other. For example, a daughter might find it easier to trust and relate to her mother than her father because he's a man. Or alternatively, she might find it easier to speak to her father because he doesn't have the same expectations her mother might. It all depends on the family."

Belle bit her lip. Yes, yes it did.

"My, uh, my situation was sort of like that first example. My mother was the one I could tell anything, my thoughts, my dreams. Papa never really understood me, I mean, I think his expectations for a daughter was sort a of a stereotype. A dutiful, obedient girl without much of a will of her own, someone to marry to a respectable suitor. I've sort of always thrown him for a six..."

Archie waved his pen around. Belle wasn't sure if he'd been taking notes or not. "This was before, er, Beauty and the Beast?"

Belle snorted. She'd watched the Disney depiction of her story once. And only once. It was rather underwhelmingly simplified, although Gaston had been captured in horrifying detail. The ponytail was an odd choice though. And the prince wasn't half as handsome as-

"Yes, before that. Papa wasn't very pleased that I married Rumple but he didn't object, really. But he didn't mind saying 'I told you so' when I sent him over the town line, either."

Archie pursed his lips. "Your father is sort of set in his opinions, isn't he?"

"That is a chronic understatement, but yes. I think the only reason he approved of me getting married was because I was getting married. To who didn't matter so much, I think, especially since at the time Rumple wasn't considered the worst villain around."

"Has your relationship with your father wavered since Oliver was born?" Archie asked. "Sometimes a father's perception of his daughter may change when she has a child."

Belle paused, taking a moment to consider her answer. "Papa was...not very supportive, at first. I think it was a shock. And considering who the father was, and my relationship with him at the time, Papa tried to convince me to...well I kept my baby, and Papa was happy to have a grandson. I still think he is, it's just he's disappointed that Oliver isn't more of a sportsman. And the fact that he's the son of Rumpelstiltskin rather than some lordling or knight Papa can trade hunting stories with."

Archie made a bit of a face at that. "Well, in my professional opinion, your father has to accept that not every boy wants to be a knight."

"As I've said."

"Good. It's never a good idea to try forcing a child to accept another person's expectations of them, especially when there's nothing wrong with their current interests and behavior in the first place," Archie said firmly. "It's not uncommon for grandparents to treat grandchildren the same as they treated their children, for better or worse. If it's at all possible, I'd recommend keeping Oliver away from Moe until he understands that his views about Mr. Gold are different than Oliver's, and potentially damaging."

"Damaging?"

"If I you liked a certain kind of food, and I didn't, so I repeatedly tell you that food is bad, you would either start hating my opinion on something you like, or you would start feeling guilty for liking something different. And neither is a very helpful option for Oliver's sake right now."

Belle admitted that made a certain amount of sense. They chattered for a few more minutes, Archie stressing the importance of her communicating with Henry to understand the situation and not withdrawing immediately, and then the clock announced that it was nearly six o'clock. Their session more or less over, Archie got up and went over to his desk, pulling out a little planner he used for keeping appointments straight.

"Now I assume Oliver is going to be back in school soon," he said. "What time do you think would work best for steady, regular visits? I have Wednesday and Thursdays after three almost all open."

"Wednesdays at about four would do nicely, I think," Belle agreed.

"And for yourself?"

Belle bit her lip. "I'll get back to you on that. I've got the library to keep open and I'm still not sure where I stand in all this."

Archie gave her this odd sort of look, then. "I understand that, but you will come back eventually?"

"I'll have to get back to you," she repeated. Quite honestly, Belle didn't see why it was so important for her to come back at all, other than to take Oliver. She didn't have mental illness, or depression, or a bully, there was no real reason Belle could come up with that would explain why she needed therapy.

And from that same look Archie was giving her, Belle could tell he disagreed, but penciled Oliver down for Wednesday at four without further argument. He walked them out his office, locking up as he went and walking onto the street with them. They parted ways and Oliver was very quiet except for little "mmhmms" in positive response to anything Belle said.

"How do you feel about lasagna for supper?"

"Mmhmm."

"There still some brownies left, too, I think."

"Mmhmm."

"Did your session go alright with Archie?"

"Mmhmm."

It wasn't really until Belle got them inside the library and locked the doors shut behind her that Oliver seemed able to speak again. He skipped the last two steps in one big hop, at the top of the stairs leading to their apartment, when he quietly asked: "Can I go see Papa tomorrow?"

Belle managed a smile that felt more genuine than any other one that day.

"Mmhmm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See above note for my emotions at the time of posting. Thank you. Also, I've got a few more chapters of A Brave New World I need to finish, plus an RSS fic, (why do I keep signing up for challenges?!) ^this^ story gets my full attention.
> 
> I'm working out my canonical frustrations here and in The Crystal Looking-Glass, for a more light-hearted tone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you lovely people hoping a fertilizer truck would drop on Moe--that doesn't happen. But Belle isn't very passive in this chapter either. Next chapter you'll finally get to meet Oliver's friends, but this chapter you get to meet Opal's little brothers...

Henry got a call from Belle saying she would drop Oliver off at the hospital to visit with Gold while she ran some errands that had been put off in the wake of this crisis. She'd also said she wasn't going to see him just yet, which part of Henry disagreed with, and another part thought was for the best.

On the one hand, for all Gold was lambasted as a coward, Belle had this nasty habit of running away too. It took her five months to see he hadn't been the villain behind the Black Cauldron. Which brought Henry to the other hand; Sometimes you hurt the ones you love the most, and it was too easy for Belle to hurt Gold. And for Gold to hurt Belle. It was probably a bad idea to have her come into the hospital room while Gold still seemed to be in a state of shock. He kept staring into space, like he was asleep with his eyes open, and he didn't want to talk.

At least until he saw Oliver. Then he gave a weak smile and croaked, "Hey."

Henry had to step out the room, because Oliver had climbed up into the bed and buried his face against Gold's chest. His grandfather looked like he was about to cry and Oliver was crying, and Henry didn't feel like he should be watching that.

He stepped into the hallway for a few minutes and when he came back, ahead of a nurse who came to check Gold's blood again, (Gold had given enough blood at this point for a transfusion,) they were still wrapped around each other. Oliver had oblidged the nurse by moving so that she could stick the shunt in Gold's arm, and asked if his father was okay.

It took a concentrated effort on Henry's part not to roll his eyes when the nurse smiled, bent down to Oliver's level, and cooed, "Don't you worry honey, we're taking very good care of your dad. He'll be just fine!"

Gold snorted, and that actually went a long way in cheering Henry up. So did the small sneer on Oliver's face. He looked like an affronted kitten, an expression Henry had seen on Belle's face before. Once the nurse left, Oliver climbed back into bed and tucked himself into his father's side again.

"When are you coming home?" Oliver asked.

Gold hesitated. "I, uh, I'm not sure, really."

"Are you still sick?"

"Uh..."

Henry saw the look of panic in his grandfather's eyes from across the room. "The doctor's are making sure there aren't any bad reactions still," he intervened smoothly. "We'll see what Whale says next time he comes in."

Oliver nodded. "As long as you don't ask that same nurse."

Gold rolled his eyes, looping an arm around Oliver's shoulders when he settled back into his side. "You missed the one that spoke to me like a child in order to convince me to eat a bowl of chicken soup."

"But you're old!" Oliver blurted, then back-tracked at the look Gold shot him. "Er, I mean, you're a grownup. Why's she talking to you like a baby?"

His father prodded Oliver in the side, forcing a giggle out of him, rather than answering the question. Henry laughed too.

He felt better that morning than he had since Friday.

* * *

Two incidents of accidental shop-lifting when they were two and one count of sticking free cheese-and-cracker samples into little pockets had made Astrid a very eagle-eyed mother. And that was just with the twins, but thankfully Opal wasn't much for petty theft.

Astrid had put Peter and Joseph's coats in the buggy as soon as they stepped into the grocery store out of the cold of January. They weren't bad kids, really, so they trotted around the vicinity of the buggy without wandering off. Astrid had found given them a job, usually to get things off the shelves they could reach, kept them from wandering off or getting into trouble. She teased Leroy sometimes that all their children had dwarf minds, they had to work. He said that was fine since they at least looked like her, but Astrid personally thought their sons looked like their father. They were sort of delicate-looking like Astrid, but they had black hair, blue eyes, and bright smiles.

Of course no one believed Leroy had a bright smile, but that was their loss. Astrid happened to like her husband's smile.

Astrid's plan for today was to buy the groceries, a box of woodscrews, and a ten foot powercord. (Those wouldn't come from the grocery store, obviously.) Then she'd take the boys home for lunch, and they'd make a plate of cookies and a plate of sandwiches. Astrid would have to see if the extended Gold family would want them at the hospital, or dropped off at their home. Homes. Belle had taken Astrid under her wing when she left the convent,- _"Pregnant women should stick together,"_ she'd said when Astrid became pregnant with Opal before Oliver was born,-so it was the very least she could do, make a little food and see if Belle wanted to take some time off from the library to sort things out.

Also, Opal was going a bit stir-crazy, impatiently waiting to see if Oliver was okay or not. Apparently someone had caught her trying to sneak away from the playground yesterday with Garrick Booth. They were only caught because Garrick got his shoe stuck in the holes of the chainlink fence trying to climb over...Astrid didn't know much about jailbreaks but she didn't think Garrick would be a very good accomplice. He was sweet but kind of...simple.

Shopping, food, put Opal's mind to ease. Astrid could clear that up when she asked about where she should bring the sandwiches, ask when she could bring Opal by.

Peter and Joseph suddenly darted down the cereal aisle and latched onto the woman standing at the end...oh! It was Belle, well, that made things easier. Astrid brought the buggy down to where her boys had stopped hugging Belle and were chattering happily about Opal's attempted escape yesterday. At least until Astrid said, "Boys, can you go down and get two gallons of milk?"

Since they wanted to be big and strong like their dad and uncles, (big being relative,) Peter and Joseph like to try and move heavy things. Milk jugs were a favorite because they were four. (And a half, Peter would remind, since he liked counting days or months on calendars.) Hopefully as long as they didn't _drop_ the jugs, then that would keep them occupied for a little bit. Enough time for Astrid to see how Belle was doing.

The boys dashed off to the dairy case right around the corner and Belle gave Astrid a smile. It was a weak smile that didn't reach her reddish eyes, and Astrid immediately went to hug her friend.

Belle made a terribly sad, smothered noise against Astrid's shoulder and clutched the back of her cardigan tightly.

"Oh Belle, it's gonna be okay, alright?" Astrid said, trying to sound encouraging. "We're here if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, you and Oliver and Gold, you can count on us. You know that, right?"

"Oh god, Astrid, Astrid it's horrible! I brought Oliver to visit at the hospital and I couldn't even go in to see _him_."

"That's okay, you don't have to see him yet."

Belle whimpered. "I feel terrible..."

"I think that's okay too-"

"Astrid, I swear, I've already got Archie saying that, please don't start too. I-I'm just so worried...about Oliver, and Rumple, and...and everything."

"Well..." Astrid shifted Belle a bit, (she was so tiny,) trying to think of what to say. "You can talk to me if you need too. And I was thinking about bringing some sandwiches around to your homes, or maybe the hospital. I remember when I had the twins they served up a wilted veggie wrap and bitter tea, so I thought they might like something less... _institutional_."

Belle gave a watery laugh and nodded, scrubbing at her eyes as she pulled away. "Y-yeah, that's a good idea. Th-thanks."

"Anything for a friend," Astrid smiled. "And I'll be happy to help you out at the library if you need an extra hand. Do you want some company or..."

"N-no, no thanks, but...th-that's a nice thought, thanks," Belle said, rubbing her other eye. "I, um, I'll call you if I need the help. That's really nice, thank you. Do you have Henry's number, h-he's staying at the hospital, if you wanted bring those sandwiches around."

"I think I've got it, yup. Do you think I could bring Opal around after school? She's kind of anxious to see Oliver."

Belle snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth. "So I heard from your boys. Poor Garrick."

Astrid had to giggle a little. Poor Garrick indeed. Opal had complained over dinner last night that they would have made it if Garrick didn't stick his foot in it. Literally.

Joseph came back first with a gallon of milk wrapped up in his arms. He grunted and shifted the weight every few steps and staggered to the buggy, where Astrid had to take it from him since he was too short to actually get it in the buggy. His brother had taken off his sweater and tied one sleeve through the handle, pulling it across the store floor. Hopefully the floor was clean...

Oh goodness, hopefully his sweater wasn't all ruined and stretched out...

Astrid put the other (mostly clean) milk jug into the buggy and Belle squeezed her sons' shoulders. "Look at you two, you're getting so big! You know you used to be as small as a gallon of milk."

Both boys looked at each other, unconvinced.

"I bet Joseph was, he's littler than me."

"Smaller, and am not!"

"Am too!"

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

"Boys," Astrid said. "You're both the same height."

Peter and Joseph looked each other again. They weren't very quarrelsome. They were little doppelgangers of each other, wispy little boys with wiry dark hair and blue eyes. The only way a stranger could tell them apart was that Joseph had this little shock of white hair Dr. Whale said was a "forelock", and that it didn't effect his health at all. Astrid never gave it a second thought since Leroy had hatched with a salt-and-pepper beard on his face, and it had made it easier to tell them apart when they were just squirmy little newborns with fuzzy dark heads.

"Oh," the boys said, then Joseph chirped, "Where's Oliver?"

"He...he's visiting his father in the hospital," Belle said, her smile faltering.

"Did he break his leg?" Peter asked.

"Opal broke her wrist and we got to sign her cast," Joseph nodded. "Should we sign Mr. Gold's cast?"

"Well, no, because he doesn't have one."

"Why doesn't he have a cast if he broke his leg?"

"Or his arm."

Belle gave a slightly overwhelmed laugh, shaking her head. "He didn't break any bones you sillies, he's just, uh, s-sick. We'll see what happens when he gets out the hospital, okay?"

Peter and Joseph looked a bit saddened that they couldn't sign anything, but nodded. Astrid sent them back to the refrigerator case to grab a package of cookie dough, which cheered them up because that meant cookies. Astrid's cooking abilities were simple at best, she and Leroy sort of had to figure out what worked and what didn't from a few cookbooks for absolute beginners. But cookie dough and sandwiches she could do.

* * *

Belle had been a bit embarrassed that she'd had a breakdown on Astrid's pink cardigan, but she felt oddly...better, afterwards. For one thing, Astrid and Leroy's little boys were absolutely delightful. For another, Belle knew that if she did need time away from the library, Astrid would step in to take over.

As a bit of a misfit, Belle tended to make connections with other misfits. Ariel, Ruby, Mulan, Merida, Robin Hood, Anna, Leroy. So it wasn't hard at all to befriend Astrid, especially since she was so nice. And then she'd had her and Leroy's daughter Opal, who was Oliver's very first and very best friend, and then they became parent-friends too. Astrid and Leroy were probably Belle's closest friends in Storybrooke because of that, and somehow she knew when the former nun-fairy said she would run the library or be there to talk, she would be.

The Charming family's abstract promises were very kind, but it was the sort of promise that went unfulfilled because you were never sure how to act on them. Belle would admit that while she thought of the Charmings as part of her highly extended family and friends, they weren't especially close. Belle had attempted to put a bit of distance between Snow especially because she had this bad habit of bringing her kids around Oliver and that was always a recipe for disaster.

And if Archie's usually sound advice was to be believed, she should try to distance Oliver a bit further from the Charming brood.

And her father...

Speaking of, when Belle was going through the pharmacy for some Aleve, a box of, er, lady supplies, and some soap. On the soap aisle, Belle was flagged down by her father, who planted himself in front of her with a "Belle," that made her want to sigh.

"Have you thought about what I said?"

"Papa, I'm not in the mood to fight," Belle said, finally sighing. "I'm busy right now and I've got to be finished before Oliver gets home-"

A look of disgust crossed Papa's face that hurt something in Belle's chest. "Oh, you can't be serious. You've gone and gotten yourself involved, haven't you? Now I can understand a little bit because the beast is your boy's father no matter what. But you can't keep dropping everything to try and save-"

"Father!" Belle snapped, slamming the bar of soap into her basket. "Yes! Rumple is the father of my child, and yes, I am involved, for that very reason, and, whether you like it or not, I'd be involved anyway because despite everything I am still his wife and part of me will always care. And I'm sorry if that upsets you, but I'm sure you'll tell me all about it later, but right now I need to think about my son's well-being."

Papa scowled, jabbing a finger in what might have been the direction of the hospital. "You know what would be good for that boy? You should stop letting him spend so much time with that man! He's a bad influence, that's why that boy is so...so...such an odd child. They're going to talk about him, they already talk about him."

Belle felt that little hurt in her chest give a twist and snap off. She had tried to ignore how often her father avoided using Oliver's name, because surely it was difficult seeing a daughter raise the child of a man that had betrayed her so many times. But there came a point when difficult turned to flat-out unreasonable, and Papa was dancing on the line. A hairline crack trailed through Belle's thin patience and she stood up straight, the way a governess had once told her to stand if she were speaking to a nobleman.

This wasn't the old world, but standing tall made her feel less like a child recieving a scolding. And she wasn't a child, she was a mother, and she needed to care for _her_ child rather than please her father today.

"That is what _you think_   would be good for me. That is not what would be good for Oliver, because unlike you, I know that no matter my relationship with Rumple, he and Oliver are inseparable. I appreciate your concerns, and _I can understand a little bit_ because you are my father and worry. But if I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Now when you have an opinion that isn't prejudiced against your grandson's grandfather, or _him_ for that matter, then I'll be glad to hear it."

Belle spun around on her heel and stomped away. She could hear her father making a short attempt to follow her, but he never fancied making a scene in front of people. And Tom Clark, Mr. Herman, and Dorothy were all witnesses.

And all three were wise enough not to say a goddamn word to the irritated woman checking out bandages, soap, and tampons.

* * *

Papa would be out of the hospital tomorrow afternoon. That was Friday night, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday in the hospital. Oliver hadn't been to the hospital for so many days in a row since he'd been a baby. At least he thought so, Henry said Mama had been in labor for nearly a whole day before she gave birth.

Tommy Herman had whispered about how his older sister Alexandra had gotten a special class in the sixth grade on the subject, but there was nothing appealing about the prospect to Oliver. When Mrs. Nolan was pregnant with Leopold, she'd gotten big as one of the prize-winning pumpkins from the pumpkin patch. How did the baby get in there...and how did it get bigger? Garrick thought it was gross too but thought there was kissing involved. Opal was curious because she wanted to know if dwarves and fairies were different than humans. The school did teach a few subjects from the Enchanted Forest, maybe it would. Or maybe not, since the Blue Fairy had kept Opal's parents apart in the first place for being dwarves and fairies.

_Speaking of..._

Mama had texted Henry that Opal's mom would be coming around with sandwiches for lunch. Thank god, because quite honestly Storybrooke General Hospital's food quality was low. So low. Lower than the dirt it tasted worse than.

Papa didn't want to talk much, but he listened to Oliver, or Henry, or Oliver and Henry. He'd chip in a few words throughout the day, which Henry seemed to think was a good thing. Good. Oliver would take would he could get that was good. Archie had said something like depression had bad days, and Oliver was of the opinion that things couldn't be too bad if you still had good days. Right?

Astrid came in just after noon with a plastic baggie with triangular sandwiches in Zip-Locs. Opal's parents had to sort of figure out how to be human adults together, so her mom had never really figured out how to do the whole potluck/to-go/homecooking thing, but Oliver didn't really care because she came in with a bright smile like Opal's and her bag of sandwiches.

"Hi!" she chirped. "I've brought lunch, um, I'm not sure what you'd want so I have ham and cheese, or roast beef and swiss. Oh, and one ham sandwich with ketchup and no cheese on it for you, Oliver."

See? Astrid was great.

Oliver ate his sandwich sitting crosslegged near Papa's fit on the hospital mattress. Papa picked at a ham sandwich triangle, and he ate most of it. He did eat some of the cookies Astrid had in another baggie, two Pecan Sandies, (theirs was a Keebler cookie household,) and seemed content with that. Personally, Oliver liked to see his father looking like he was paying attention. Astrid wasn't there for long, but she said she was going to bring Opal and possibly Garrick around to the library after school because they'd tried scaling the playground fence yesterday.

That sounded like something they'd do.

Also, they were bringing his homework by. _Ugh_.

Astrid wasn't too scared of Papa, but she didn't seem to know what say, and that was okay. She'd done more than the Charmings did when they came by just by bringing sandwiches and asking when Papa was going to get out the hospital. She'd asked if Papa and Henry needed anything when they got home, like groceries or laundry detergent or whatever.

Papa had looked at her like she was speaking in tongues.

Astrid was probably the nicest mom Oliver knew besides his own, she was about as mean as the pink glitter her magic looked like, and she had always helped Mama in the library. A few months ago, before everything went to hell, she had come out to supervise Opal, Oliver, and Garrick in Papa's backyard when they were growing flowers for a science project.

Still, Oliver couldn't think of a lot of people that offered to do nice things for Papa. He probably didn't believe her.

* * *

At about a quarter to three, Violet showed up to take Oliver home. Henry, after a bit of prompting, went with them to get everything straightened out for his return home tomorrow.

Rumpelstiltskin insisted he go, because he needed some time in the quiet to think alone.

At least that's what he said.

Really, Rumpelstiltskin felt like he was going to cry all day long and he didn't want to burst into tears in front of his family. He'd almost failed at that when Violet had to hug him after Oliver and smile like she was happy he wasn't dead.

He still wasn't sure if he was happy about that or not. On the one hand, he still had his boy, his grandson. They were happy to see him, as far as he could tell, and hadn't been upset with him...yet. That was the sticking point, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't an idiot. He knew that taking a whole bottle of pills was a stupid, selfish thing to do, suicide was the coward's way out he had never considered before a few weeks ago.

Rumpelstiltskin had thought he had everything planned out. He'd die, and his last words were committed in letters to his loved ones, his will iron-clad in an envelope, complete with funeral arrangements. Cremation, his remains buried by Bae. Simple. The only people to mourn him would be Henry and Oliver, maybe Belle just because of their history. Or maybe not, because of their history. He hadn't seen her yet, but then, he'd chosen the coward's way out. And Belle couldn't stand cowardice and his constant need to surrender when he couldn't fight a problem.

Neither could he.

But apparently he was going to have to, because he wasn't sure if he could put his tiny family through this mess again and still think it was a problem-solver...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THE WINTER FINALE OF S6 WASN'T AS AWFUL AS I WAS EXPECTING I MEAN I FULLY ANTICIPATED IT TO BE A GROSS CS PRINCESS!EMMA FIC BUT IT WAS SO MUCH BETTER BECAUSE REGINA WAS THE ONE TO SEE PRINCESS!EMMA AND BRING HER BACK TO REALITY (mentally, uh, spoiler, they're trapped in the AU world still,) AND RUMBELLE ISN'T FIXED BUT THEY TALKED A LITTLE AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
> 
> I'm a little guilty about posting this now...buuuuuuut...

Papa was coming home tomorrow.

Oliver got to ride in the Cadillac with Henry and Violet in the front seat, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. He'd never noticed he tugged on his shirt cuffs until Garrick pointed it out. The phrase was something like "as fidgety as a Gold", because Papa had fiddly-fingers too. It got bad when they were nervous.

Which Oliver was.

When Papa was in the hospital, it just seemed like he was sick. But Archie said problems like dispersion, no, depression, were the kind that needed those tools to handle. That sounded complicated. Maybe it was good Archie got all that psychiatrist knowledge from the first curse, it seemed awful complicated to learn.

Violet would be staying with Henry straighten out what needed...straightening, Oliver guessed. His nephew was a messy sort of housekeeper without another roommate. Papa said that if the dishwasher hadn't been invented, then all his plates and cups would be stacked up to the roof. Oliver wondered what sort of mess Violet was walking into.

As soon as he walked through the door of the library, Oliver walked into Opal. Or maybe Opal ran into Oliver. Either way, his oldest friend wrapped her arms around his skinny self and nearly lifted him up on his toes. Opal was just barely a fifth of an inch taller than him, and just turned nine at the start of the month, but she was a lot stronger.

"Ack! I can't _breathe_!"

"Hush! That is hug that was four days coming," Opal tutted, loosening her grip until it was less anaconda-like. "You idiot, I was worried about you!"

Oliver snorted, some of Opal's sorta-frizzy brown curls tickling his nose. "Yeah, I know. Who caught you at the fence?"

Opal pushed him back, her brown eyes wide and her full cheeks pink. "Who told you that!"

"It was Mr. Crane," Garrick chirped, and good god, what happened to his hair? On Friday and Saturday Garrick's hair was a curly blonde mess, same as always, and today it was cut short. He leaned closer to Oliver and whispered behind his hand. "Opal fell off the fence."

"Yeah," Oliver snickered. "Because she was trying to get you unstuck. And what happened to your hair?"

"Somebody spit gum on the ground near the fence. I got it stuck in my hair and it looked stupid to have this hank missing, so I got a haircut."

"Dude, you have freckles on your forehead. That's so weird."

"I know right!" Garrick grinned. "It looks like a little galaxy up there! Can you see any constellations? I think I've got a perfect little dipper on my right cheek."

Opal squinted, as if seeing noticing the constellation-like properties of Garrick's face. "Hmm...I dunno. What do you think Oli?"

"How 'bout we get some pens and a star book?" The owner of the freckles suggested.

Oliver had _really_ missed his friends.

Henry and Violet said hi to Mama before leaving to tidy up Papa's house, and Opal gave Henry a card made from yellow construction paper to give to Papa, too. She gave one to Oliver soon, made from light blue paper, that read: _'I'm sorry your Dad's sick Oli, I hope he gets better soon. Best wishes, Opal.'_ There was a scribbled picture of a yellow smiley face with a pink tongue sticking out on the inside that made Oliver feel better. A little bit.

Opal's family (sans six uncles,) and Garrick's mom were all there in the apartment. They seemed to talk about everything that wasn't Papa while "the kids" were in the room. Henry said once that kids could learn more by eavesdropping than straight-talking with their parents. And Oliver knew that was true because he'd been eavesdropping when he heard him say it. However, the grownups seemed reluctant to talk about anything more serious than Tink telling Garrick to scrub the ink off his face where they'd made freckles into constellations, and talk about a cold that was circulating through the student population and their families.

However...maybe they were keeping things light for Mama's sake, too.

After everyone left after five o'clock more or less, (someone left a green bean casserole behind,) Mama seemed a lot quieter. She cleaned up the small mess their company made, straightening the throw blanket and cushions on the couch, stacking her coffee table books, putting away glasses and the like, before serving up two plates of casserole that had been left in the oven.

It smelled good, and Oliver picked his way through it. Green beans weren't so nasty as long as they came in casserole form, but Oliver didn't really like green food in general. He'd befriended Garrick in kindergarten by trading his Rainbow Goldfish for Chips Ahoy cookies-two green fish plus one of Oliver's choice per cookie.

(Mama and Papa had thought it was, in Mama's own words, _adorable_ , though Oliver wasn't sure why.)

"Can we see Papa tomorrow when he gets home?" Oliver asked slowly, once Mama was nearly finished eating. Sometimes when Mama was upset she didn't want to eat, and she was picking through her plate even slower than he had.

"We'll call Henry in the morning and see what he thinks," Mama replied, giving him a forced smile. "I don't see why not."

Oliver picked up a fried onion with his fingers rather than chasing it around the plate with a fork. "Are you gonna come with me?"

"I...I'm not sure," she shrugged. "I don't want to upset your father when he's trying to settle in."

"Did Moe tell you to stay away?"

The words popped out without Oliver's permission. Damn. He hated how Mama let Moe influence her life, he hated how Moe made him feel, and he hated that he couldn't say anything against him just because he was his grandfather. One of those "older and betters" things grownups used to make kids do what they wanted.

Mama bit her lip. "Actually he did..." Something brightened in her eyes, and her smile, as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I told him no."

Oliver nodded slowly...there had to be more, right?

"And?"

"And I told him no."

"Really?" Oliver blinked, watching his mother closely. "Are you sure?"

Mama sighed, coming around the table to kneel in front of Oliver. She took both his hands in hers and squeezed.

"I know I...I haven't been very fair to your father lately," she began, brushing his hair off his forehead. "But there is nothing I could do to hurt him more than take you from him. And that would hurt you to, and I couldn't stand that either. N-not again. Especially when my father only wants me to stay away so I can....I dunno, marry a handsome prince and live in a castle somewhere."

Moe was kinda stupid. That might be what he wanted after all...any maybe some "normal" grandkids.

"Look, my father is not important now. What's important is your father's recovers, and if Papa can't help, then he just needs to stay away. And...and your father and I have this...we sometimes...baby," Mama inhaled. " Sometimes we hurt the people we love, even though we aren't trying to. And I don't want to do that to him now, does that make sense?"

Oliver thought about it. And in a way it did make sense, even though in some ways, it didn't. Before Mama decided she didn't want to be in love with Papa three years ago, watching them make up and break up was like watching a hurricane. Only instead of there being a before and an after, they were permanently caught in the storm, and the only reprieve came when the eye of the storm settled over their family. _Briefly_.

That break up three years ago was because Papa lied about magic. And he argued with Mama that he hadn't lied because he hadn't used magic, only looked at it, through spell books and scrolls and tinkered with an object or two. That sounded a little iffy to Oliver, but he also didn't understand why Papa's use of magic was such a bad thing. Regina, Mrs. Jones, all the fairies, even Zelena all had magic and Mama didn't care about them. She was probably upset because Papa all but promised he hadn't been doing it. Nothing made Mama angrier than being lied to, however indirectly.

His father had never played with words with Oliver, or Henry as far as he knew, but that was something he knew Papa did that upset Mama greatly.

"I s'pose so..." he said after a long pause. "So you won't keep me away from Papa again?"

Mama stood up to kiss his forehead, wrapping him in her arms. "As long as your father is up for it, I won't stand in the way. Though if you catch that awful cold that's going around, I might keep you home until you aren't contagious. Depression and a cold don't sound like a good combination."

"Yuck." No they did not.

Mama laughed a little, giving Oliver another peck on the forehead. "Put the dishes away, you. I'll call Henry and see when you can go over tomorrow."

Oliver obeyed, and he felt...maybe not better, but not upset. Today was a good day. Maybe not a great day, but it wasn't a bad day. And maybe that was a good sign for tomorrow, too.

* * *

The house was more or less clean as far as sanitation went. Henry left his jacket on the banister and a tie on the kitchen counter, dishes stacked up in the sink, and he was mystified by how a carton of orange juice had ended up in the cabinet. Violet put it back in the fridge.

Henry straightened things up and then changed the sheets on his grandfather's bed. He took a call from Belle while Violet loaded the dishwasher, (it was right there! Violet didn't understand why her boyfriend couldn't use it,) and heated up a can of clam chowder. She thought that Mr. Gold was supposed to be minding his sodium, not because of a doctor-restricted diet but more like a doctor-suggested one, but canned soup was easy to serve and with two slices of toasted bread, Henry didn't complain.

"Thanks," he kissed her forehead, sitting beside her at the kitchen island on the barstools. "You didn't have to."

"If you're going to keep looking after your grandfather, someone's got to look after you," Violet said, blowing on her loaded spoon. "Otherwise you would keep orange juice in the cabinets and never have clean dishes. Who knows what your laundry situation would be."

Henry snorted, hooking his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. "And I love you for it."

He made a show of putting his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, and doing the same for her dishes before running the machine. Mr. Gold's dishwasher was quieter than the one in Violet's apartment, barely a whisper and a woosh of water. Henry then regarded the box Mr. Gold kept his medication in. According to Henry, his grandfather took his pills with his breakfast each morning. The antidepressant, and some vitamins.

"Do you think I should...hide it? Like the guns?" Henry asked.

Violet, for the life of her, couldn't think of an answer. Because on the one hand, if Henry hadn't have given his grandfather's guns to her for safekeeping, he might have come home to find a bullet in Mr. Gold's head rather than his being slumped over. It was a saftey precaution that arguable paid off in the long run. And if Mr. Gold was suicidal, maybe it would be for the best to put the medication somewhere he didn't have free access to it.

On the other hand, Mr. Gold liked being in control. Violet didn't claim to know exactly how Henry's grandfather thought, but she knew he needed to feel he had control over a situation. He opposed anyone's attempts to force him into anything. Last month he'd refused to leave the house, even just going for a drive to look at the Christmas lights strung up around town. And adminstering his medication might read strongly as, _"I'm making choices for you now that are non-negotiable."_

Neither was an appealing outcome, really.

"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Hopper, or Whale. Maybe even your grandfather."

Henry sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I should have known something was wrong that morning...he wasn't acting normal...whatever normal is now."

"Maybe...and maybe he didn't want you to notice," Violet sighed, taking his hands in hers. "I don't know what's going on, I don't know how to help, really. But I'm here for you, and you're here for your grandfather, and there are doctors and friends we can count on for helping figure this out, right? Like Belle, or Regina, and your other grandparents. Since you stood by me after that pregnancy scare, my dad might even be willing to pitch in if he can."

Henry snorted. "I can't see that, though I'm sure he'd mean well."

Okay, yeah, he was right there. Her father was a very protective sort, very stern-but-fair, and he was always wary of anything potentially dangerous. Probably a byproduct of dropping into Camelot from the land of Conneticut, coming face-to-face with real dragons and knights and magic. As such, Sir Morgan was a bit leery of the Dark One, but since out Henry's whole family, Mr. Gold was the only one not to explode over the pregnancy scare and looking for practical solutions to boot, it won him a bit of respect.

"Anything else need doing?" Violet asked.

"I changed the sheets, I don't think we need to vacuum, everything looks good...what now?"

"Well, I could stay and watch a movie with you, or we could go to bed early, or we could...go to bed early."

Henry's eyebrows drew together. "Wait, you said bed twice. Like...oh."

"Mmhmm."

"Okay, bed. Let's go to bed."

* * *

Morning came and Rumpelstiltskin was very surprised he'd slept at all. But he had, some time between ten at night, and he'd woken up at six in the morning. That was nearly nine hours of sleep. Uninterrupted.

That either boded well for his mental state post-coma, or suggested he wasn't going to function well outside a sterile, structured environment like the hospital. Or an asylum...

He got up and made use of the tiny bathroom attached to the room to shower. Henry had been kind enough to leave him an overnight bag with his toothbrush in a plastic baggie, toothpaste, a little bottle of mouthwash, and a change of clothes that he ordinarily wouldn't have worn outside his house. A pair of jeans and a sweater. There weren't any razors, and Rumpelstiltskin scowled at his reflection. His eyes were clean enough, but the dark circles under his eyes were still there. There were enough lines in his haggard face to make him look as old as he really was, with his short hair white as frost, silver stubble bristling his cheeks.

Dr. Hopper had come around shortly after the breakfast tray was whisked off. Rumpelstiltskin vaguely recalled Whale saying something about Hopper needing to give him a proper evaluation before he could actually go home.

The evaluation consisted of a string of questions, the cricket staring at him, and repeating the questions and pressing for honesty. The hospital basement was the maximum security jail in Storybrooke, but a section of patient rooms had been converted into the psych ward, so Rumpelstiltskin had heard. He imagined that if he flunked the cricket's evaluation he'd be sent there for a longer stay, which he was hoping to avoid.

"Why did you want to kill yourself?"

"It seemed like the best option at the time. I was aware it wasn't the right thing, but," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged, marvelling at how detached he felt from this scenerio. "I did it anyway."

"Why did you think it was your best option?"

"Just seemed easier. I had everything lined up, funeral arrangements, my will, even what suit I'd wear in the casket."

"Did being in control that way make you feel better about yourself?"

"In a way? I felt..." and here he faltered, for the first time. "I felt like I had tied up all the loose ends in my life as best as I could. I'd made arrangements so there was nothing to do but sign a few papers, everyone I care for was provided for. I was in control."

"How do you feel about it now?"

"It was an illusion. I wasn't in control, not really, I just made a poor choice."

Dr. Hopper made a small note. "How do you define 'poor choice'?"

My existence.

"I caused unnecessary harm to myself and the people I thought wouldn't mind if I...popped off. I-I know Henry likes me, and Oliver, but it...s-sometimes it feels...like it isn't...I feel like...l-like I'm not...n-not good."

My existence might have been easier to say. Maybe.

Hopper nodded. "That's a perfectly logical feeling. Many people feel they aren't enough for their loved ones, especially with depression. It's not an easy condition to live with, it waxes and wanes, one day you might feel good, and the next, you won't remember what that feels like at all. We discussed the risks of antidepressants before, I believe, when I prescribed them."

They did. Rumpelstiltskin feared drug dependancy, replacing a substance for his overuse of magic, and hadn't been willing to try the pills until Hopper outlined every single side effect and possibility. It wasn't a miracle pill, it didn't cure depression, it just tinkered around with the brain to balance out the chemicals boiling out of control there. And it had worked splendidly at what Hopper and Whale both assured was a very minimal dose. Too much had made him fat and stupid, too little brought out that skittery, restless feeling he'd tamped down most of his life. They'd found just the right amount and there was talk of trying to eliminate the pill altogether when the Black Cauldron hit and sent him reeling back to square one.

Or negative twenty...

"I think we should try a higher dosage, but maybe not right away," Hopper said. "All your recent stress has caused something of a relapse, which is perfectly normal considering... _everything_. We'll try scheduling appointments every three days for a few weeks before we try medication again. It might seem odd, but antidepressants sometimes increase suicidal thoughts, because you have a little more energy to try things. I'd like to see you a bit more stabile before we reintroduce the medication, or try a new one."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. A few other questions referring to his mental state at the moment were brought up, and after an hour, Dr. Hopper stood up from his chair and said he was fit to go home.

He didn't believe the cricket until after Henry arrived to take him home.

So...he wasn't well off...but he wasn't so badly off he had to be institutionalized?

Okay.

There was something about a seventy-two hour observation period for suicide attempts. People still feared him, despite the fact that he was a crippled old man rather than a powerful villain now, and they were eager to see him on his way when he and Henry made inquiries about leaving soon the other day. The observation period had been fudged a bit short so that after all the paperwork was signed and shuffled around behind the nurse's desk, Rumpelstiltskin was walking out the door with Henry at a quarter past one.

Well, _figuratively_   walking.

He'd rather have walked but the idiotically cheerful nurse had chirped it was policy for every patient to be discharged in a wheelchair. They were going to roll him out to the damned curb like luggage on a cart.

If there had been time and a contract in front of him, Rumpelstiltskin might've enjoyed stabbing holes in her "policy", but if it meant getting out the hospital, fine. He was rolled out and got to his feet with a glower that did succeed in sending the nurse fleeing with her wheelchair back inside Storybrooke General Hospital.

The drive home was quiet. Storybrooke was still in the doldrums of January, gray and cold and frosted with snow. It was a Wednesday, according to the discharge papers. Everyone was either stuck at work or school at that moment, there were few people on the streets.

On their drive, Henry informed him that Garrick had gotten gum stuck in his hair during he and Opal's schoolyard adventure. They had been at the library when Oliver had gone home, and it was good to know that his son wasn't alone. They'd also brought him his homework...including the necessary parts for a birdhouse sent by Snow White. Complete with a bottle of woodglue.

Now, Rumpelstiltskin was never a teacher in this land, and as a mentor in the old world he had made his students do several tasks seemingly without purposes to demonstrate certain rules of magic...but what educational value was there in building a birdhouse?

The school system in Storybrooke was something Rumpelstiltskin had brushed up on once Oliver started elementary school, and was pleased that it wasn't as dismal as he'd been anticipating. The principal wasn't as incapable as he appeared, and Belle and several other parents had pushed to update the curriculum that had been serviceable under the curse, but was increasingly outdated by the time Henry graduated to high school. 

Snow was only the homeroom teacher for the fourth grade, they did go to other teachers for subjects beyond the _fairest of them all's_ understanding. Science. English. Math. (She might be the social studies teacher, sure, of course _she_ was.) Snow might introduce them to new fields, but she wasn't wholly responsible for Oliver's education.

Bullet dodged, that.

Henry had them home in short order, and Rumpelstiltskin was mildly impressed that the house was also in order. The boy may be the Author with the heart of the Truest Believer, son of the Savior, grandson of the Dark One, Snow White, and Prince Charming...but at the end of the day he was still twenty-three. Rumpelstiltskin had seen him eating Cheerios out of a small mixing bowl rather than wash a regular cereal bowl.

Violet must have helped him tidy up.

The girl in question was sitting in the living room, matter of fact. She once again gave Rumpelstiltskin a hug, and a kiss on the cheek to boot. Violet was a sweet girl, (quite a sneaky little thing too, which Henry insisted was one of her finest qualities,) but her open affection made him distinctively uncomfortable. Not because she was untoward, but just because...well he wasn't sure why. He went through the motions of accepting the hug and smiling awkwardly when she wrinkled her nose at his stubble.

Lunch was plates of lasagna. Apparently Regina had made herself useful feeding her son, which Rumpelstiltskin didn't doubt, and also placing wards on his room so no one but the medical staff and his family could enter without permission, which Rumpelstiltskin only doubted a little bit.

Old habits died hard, suspecting Regina was unfortunately one of them. She had snapped out of whatever brain-numbing fog being a hero had put her under once Robbi was mauled by a Cauldron-Born, but theirs was a rivalry that went back before she was ever born.

Finding that Zelena had been behind the whole bloody mess with the Cauldron? That must've given Regina a nasty wake-up call back to the real world where few who ask for forgiveness deserves it. Regina herself hadn't so much asked for forgiveness as she'd had to fight for months after her curse broke to be given a fair chance, and she still was inclined to set fire to whatever obstacle was in her path rather than reason with it.

In a way it was comforting to know some people didn't change too much. It would be highly disconcerting if Regina turned as pious as Snow White. Though if she did, perhaps she could explain the educational value of birdhouses to him.

Late lunch finished, Rumpelstiltskin went upstairs to clean up, leaving the dishes to Henry and Violet at their request. When they did move in together, Violet would have to be in charge of the dishes if she ever wanted clean ones.

The shower ran hot and Rumpelstiltskin's mind went pleasantly blank as he mechanically washed away any trace of the hospital from his skin. The only thing possibly worse than having to be rolled out of the hospital in a wheelchair was probably the humiliation of realizing they'd installed a few catheters while he'd been unconscious. _Ugh_. He shuffled out the shower and toweled off, then got out his razor. Or tried to.

It was only a little surprising that it wasn't there. If anyone asked, he would proudly declare that Henry got his intelligence from his paternal line. Maybe a bit of nurture vs. nature could be made for Regina's case, too. But sometimes the boy's Charming blood showed in the form of a bleeding heart, (alright, _generous nature_ ,) or overreaction without evidence.

Okay, maybe this wasn't an overreaction. Henry had found him on the sofa, of course he'd want to remove everything that could pose a threat of a second suicide attempt. It wasn't unreasonable that Henry had unfortunately inherited Rumpelstiltskin's tendency to swing towards the overprotective scale of protectiveness, too.

Rumpelstiltskin threw on a pair of black slacks-not suit pants, and yes, there was a difference,-and a black undershirt, intending to dress and ask Henry about a razor. He had never grown a beard, and quite frankly it made him look prickly. And it itched. Fortunately, before he could reach the door, Henry was knocking.

"Hey Grandpa? Can I come in? I forgot there weren't any razors in there."

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and Henry smiled sheepishly, handing him the implement. As a spinner he'd used a straight-razor, but Mr. Gold favored this "old-fashioned" single bladed razor that was familiar enough once he regained his memories. Henry had been using those cheap multi-bladed monsters when he moved in, the ones that barely lasted three uses before turning dull. He was convinced of the charms of a single-blade razor soon enough.

"Thank you, I was looking for that," he nodded, hobbling back towards the still-fogged mirror.

"You kinda look weird with a beard," Henry said, leaning in the doorway. "I mean it's all...scratchy-looking. Does it itch?"

"A bit," he replied absently, spreading foam on his face. "Good riddance to it."

Henry stayed lurking in the doorway as he shaved the ugly silvery beast off his face. The worst part was under his neck. Yuck. There was nothing attractive about growth on your neck, it just looked dirty. Rumpelstiltskin had spent the first forty-nine years of his life as a filthy peasant, and then after a year in a cage, he was rather keen on keeping himself clean and presentable. The only time his grooming slipped was on a very bad day, and he'd had a string of them when he'd taken pains to shave himself perfectly that morning when he-

" _Shit!_ "

"Grandpa?" Henry was hurrying forwards before the bloodied razor dropped into the sink and Rumpelstiltskin clapped a hand over the cut on his jaw. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine..." why was his voice wobbling? It was just a tiny cut, it stung but he'd had worse, "'m fine, I-"

Henry was on him then, inspecting the fresh wound. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't noticed his hands were shaking until he tried to take the tissue Henry'd snatched up and take care of the blood himself. He couldn't get his numb fingers to cooperate, and shame and guilt filled him. He'd taken pains Friday morning with his appearance because he'd wanted there to be less work. He'd bathed, shaved, set out his suit, shirt, tie, and shoes. He even left out a pocket square on top of his preselected socks. It was that illusion of being in control thing he'd talked about with Hopper, something that was going to come up again he could tell.

Fuck.

"It's just a little scratch, you'll be okay Grandpa," Henry said, gently tilting his head aside to assess the mark. "The bleeding's already stopped-Grandpa?"

Oh shit...he was crying. Tears had started leaking out the corners of his eyes and everything blurred then.

He was aware Henry said something. He was aware of more shame at his weakness. And he was aware that when Henry pulled him into a hug, his face pressed into the curve of his grandson's neck because the lad was so much taller and stronger and more than he ever was, that Rumpelstiltskin started choking on sobs. And then outright sobbing into Henry's t-shirt when the boy wouldn't let him go, only held him tighter.

A hundred nasty little voices started sneering that he was a pathetic, crippled burden to everyone he loved, that they pitied him rather than loved him back, that he offered them nothing but baggage without bringing anything good to the table, that his cowardice this time had let them all down and he should stop being a sniveling weakling.

And one tiny voice begged him not to let go.

For once, Rumpelstiltskin listened to the tiny voice and clung to Henry when his weak legs gave out, sobbing until everything faded into quiet, peaceful black...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM BACK 9 DAYS LATER THAN PLANNED!!!!
> 
> So a lot of elements in this story are sort of...emotionally draining, to write and read, so that's why they're sorta spaced apart. But this chapter has some more hopeful notes, (I think?) so stop reading this and get to the story! <3

Henry supposed he was lucky his grandfather was a small man, it made it easier to pick him up after he'd cried himself into exhaustion on the bathroom floor.

Not that there was anything easy about that situation.

A logical part of Henry's brain said that Gold was a bundle of anxiety, trauma, and repressed emotion wrapped in a black suit. Bursting into tears was ugly, but it might've been healthier for him than holding all of...that...inside anymore. The rest of him wanted to take a dreamcatcher and suck out all the memories that hurt. But Henry wasn't actually sure how much that would leave his grandfather with since a large portion of the hurt was tied to his first child, Belle and Oliver, and probably Henry's own _great-Panfather_.

What would there be left?

Setting Gold on the bed and peeling off his shoes, (he rarely took them off inside, probably because his mangled foot hurt without support,) Henry left his bedroom door open and went to clean up the bathroom. After regarding the washed-off razor for a few moments, Henry decided that it hadn't been at fault and placed it back in the medicine cabinet.

The logical part of his brain said it hadn't been the blade's fault, because his grandfather's hands had started shaking and his eyes glazed over. Something had happened inside of Gold's head, it wasn't an attempt at self-harm. That logic was at war with the part of Henry that kept replaying the memory of finding Gold on a couch with an empty pill bottle beside him. What if he tried it again? What if he did something different like slit his wrists? Or hang himself with one of his ties? Or maybe-

Henry took a deep breath and counted to five before exhaling slowly.

His whole family was gonna give Archie a lot of business, weren't they? Therapy, (when applied correctly,) was actually a mighty useful tool. Henry had popped around Archie's office now and then over the past decade seeking help at various times. The breathing trick was one he'd been taught to keep from ripping Hook's namesake off his arm and cramming it down his throat on more than one occasion. Although Hook was only one reason that Henry wasn't attending as many Charming Family Gatherings as he used to.

It was funny, but becoming the Author really made Henry see his _heroic_ side of the family wasn't all it was celebrated as. Kidnapping and putting all the potential darkness of their child into Lily and banishing her, killing Cora with a magic candle, keeping amnesiac Belle doped up in the hospital, the Dark Swan, _not_ locking Zelena up the minute her whiny ass showed up again, _leaving_ Rumpelstiltskin locked in a cage, leaving him in a coma without bothering to help him, not checking up on Belle in the Underworld, ratting on Belle to Mr. Hyde while she was cursed and pregnant, not bothering to help Belle while _conscious_ and pregnant other than separating her from Rumpelstiltskin, encouraging Belle to separate Oliver from his father, locking Rumpelstiltskin up without checking his guilt after the Black-Cauldron...

Henry knew that in the old world, his paternal grandfather was behind at least three-quarters of what happened. But people forgot it wasn't all evil and darkness. Oh, Henry never forgot that Gold had done some serious damage and that Belle had reasons not to trust him, but goddammit, everything that Gold did generally connected to protecting his family from something. Except when the Darkness was eating him alive, but when that happened to Emma and Hook, they'd both gotten pats on the head and told that it wasn't _their_ fault.

Hell! Hook was worse! He had tried mass genocide in Storybrooke but decided against it at the last minute, and they _still_ called him a hero for it-

Henry took another deep breath.

Violet found him there closing the medicine cabinet. She seemed to know something had happened even before Henry explained it, and it was a comfort to have her wrap her arms around him. They stood there quietly, his face buried in her soft dark hair, until his phone rang in his pocket.

The screen read **Belle**.

"Hello?"

_"Hi Henry. Um...how is he?"_

"Not...bad? Not good either. Okay?"

There was a long paused, and Henry knew he sounded ambiguous. _"Is he...is he in a good place right now? Oliver was wondering if he could come over some time soon."_

Henry winced. "I'll let you know tomorrow, okay? I think he needs some time to settle in first, get oriented."

_"Of course. Of course, um, let me know if there's anything I can do to help. With anything."_

Something in her tone gave Henry pause. As he said, Belle had reasons why Henry didn't expect her to play nice with Gold. Watching Emma and Hook over the years had made Henry realize that loving someone was all well and good, but if it wasn't healthy, _it was not healthy_. Belle didn't have to stay and be Gold's conscience, she didn't have to forgive him for anything he'd lied about, but her in-and-out presence wouldn't be very helpful right now...

_"Henry?"_

Oh.

"I...I'll let you know if I think of anything Belle. Thanks."

She must have been as uncomfortable as Henry was, because Belle mumbled something about needing to go and "thank you" before exchanging farewells.

Violet returned to her spot in Henry's arms, pecking his jaw.

"Come on," she said, tugging him out the bathroom by the hand. "You could use some rest too."

"Are you taking me to bed or taking me to bed?"

Violet swatted his arm.

"Get your mind out of the gutter Henry Daniel Mills!" she chided playfully.

"I am twenty-three and male. You ask the impossible, my lady."

Violet laughed again and brought him downstairs. In a few minutes they were curled up on the sofa with some movie playing on the TV, Violet's head on Henry's shoulder and their fingers intertwined. The contact was more important to Henry than whatever the movie was, and if you asked him what they watched, for the life of him, Henry couldn't have told you.

* * *

Belle spent the day puttering around the library without much aim. Apparently now that everyone had come by to gawk and fish for gossip, the library was back to the usual amount of traffic. Mostly. Her call to Henry that afternoon had left Belle out of sorts, for the most part. Henry didn't sound very confident. That probably meant Rumple wasn't as...well off, as she had hoped he was. Or maybe he didn't want her around.

She had completely forgotten about lunch until Granny Lucas came sweeping through the doors after two with a paper takeout bag and a face that demanded surrender.

The bag (hamburger from the smell of it,) was dropped on the desk in front of Belle. She got to her feet as Granny bustled around, eyeing her critically.

"Dorothy said you had a row with your father in the pharmacy. Is that true?"

Damn the Storybrooke rumor mill.

Granny put her eye on Belle again, and scowled. "Oh what the hell did he do? And you better tell me Belle, or so help me I will storm the flower shop and boil his head first and ask questions later."

And she would, too. Undoubtedly the rumor mill had blown reality out of proportions. It was a disagreement, Belle simply stood her ground against her pig-headed father. It was hardly "a row", at all, but...

"He...he didn't want me to help Rumple get back on his feet. And he said some things about Oliver that the mother in me protested. A lot. The protest spilled out, but there wasn't any 'row', really. I'm not apologizing because there's nothing to apologize for on my end."

Granny finally gave a sharp nod, squeezing Belle's shoulder in a comforting manner. "Good. Right now the most important thing you need is people who support you and your boy, and Moe French is not that."

Oh. Oh, it hurt to hear that. But it was _true_ , for the time being at least. Belle wanted to think that her father did care...but right now she didn't need a conditional relationship.

Maybe that showed on her face. Maybe she'd nodded. Because Granny smiled and gave Belle another squeeze. "Your father isn't the only support you have in Storybrooke, Belle. You don't need to bend to him because you think you owe him something for getting your mother pregnant."

Belle snorted, covering her mouth with her hand to keep in an inappropriate laugh. Granny had her sit down and fussed until Belle had unwrapped her hamburger and took the first bite, and only when Belle was taking her third bite did the wizened old matron seem appeased. She left after extracting a promise for Belle to come to dinner with her, Ruby, and Dorothy on Sunday. Granny was likely using this as an opportunity to monitor Belle's health and appetite, but it was far from insulting. It was appreciated, actually, that she cared enough to want to keep an eye on Belle.

There was a styrofoam container with _**For Both Of You**_ scrawled on the lid that contained a large slice of Granny's chocolate cake, far too big for someone to eat in one sitting. Belle set it aside and decided to soften the blow Oliver might feel when she explained he couldn't see Rumple yet.

It was upsetting to think that Oliver was in fear of Belle separating him from his father now. She hated the idea of her son being afraid of anything, but Belle hated that it was because of something she did even more. What was that saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Nobody ever mentioned that the good-intentions paving that road had curbs of indecision and were lit by lamps of hypocrisy, but maybe that was just because all that was too big a mouthful.

Belle shut the library down an hour early. She had been popping in on Oliver every half hour or so, and took comfort in the fact that he was moving around. His room, the kitchen table, the sofa, reading on the floor. Currently Oliver was lying on the couch with his head propped up on a pillow, reading Oliver Twist. That was one of his favorites, likely because the main character shared his name.

A waifish child raised in an awful orphanage to be thrown into the poorhouse and put through one nightmarish situation for a child after another until he bumbled into the arms of a family at long last? For a few obvious reasons, Belle had mixed feelings about the book these days, despite her love of Dickens.

But Rumple had suggested  _Oliver_ and Belle was immediately infatuated with it, spoken in the soft brogue of her husband while he brown eyes were alight with affection for the bundle in his arms. And then she opened her mouth and the moment was ruined. She would never keep quiet when she was unsettled by something, but she _really_ needed to work on her timing...

Oliver looked up at her with her own blue eyes, lifting one brow ever so slightly in a way that was purely his father. He really was the perfect mix of the two of them.

"So, Granny brought over some cake. And Henry said he'd let us know when you could come over. I think your father's a little overwrought today, he needs some time to rest."

Oliver nodded slowly. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look sad either. Or angry. He sat up, his hair ruffled from where he'd been laying on the pillow. His gaze dropped down to the container in her hands. "What kind of cake?"

Belle smiled, popping the lid open. "Chocolate, of course. Shall we have it for dinner?"

That brought a smile to her son's face, alright.

And her face too, if Belle was honest.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin felt very groggy and hazy when he opened his eyes. His alarm clock read 4:27 AM. It was black as pitch outside, and despite the excellent heating system, there was a chill hanging in the air that made him want to stay under the covers where he was warm, snug, and not conscious.

He'd been dead to the world for over twelve hours, which was a record for him, really, but considering he had barely slept at all before...the _incident_ , and a coma wasn't really a _restful_ sleep, it made sense. It was probably going to play hell with him for the rest of the week. Hopper, or maybe Whale, had said something once about napping during the day causing havoc with his internal clock, making it harder to sleep through the night. Not that Rumpelstiltskin was really napping during the day. Not unless he was having such a bad day he could barely get out of bed to shuffle to the bathroom.

God.

Rumpelstiltskin sat up and cast bleary eyes around the room. He mentally thanked Henry for placing his cane hooked over the nightstand, grabbed it, and hobbled to the bathroom. His feet were freezing on the floors, and he decided on a hot shower to warm up with. That, and he felt...icky, from being in the hospital still. Some greasy, clinging sensation that Hopper would likely insist was psychosomatic, but went away once Rumpelstiltskin had himself seated on that ledge in his shower with hot spray washing over him.

Regina may have been a spiteful bitch when she cast the first curse, but at least his home was outfitted to accomodate for he and Mr. Gold's shared disability. There were sturdy handrails on all the stairs, a bench built into the custom shower, a handlebar built around the tub to help him in and out. It had made Mr. Gold feel disdain towards himself, made him feel like he was an old man before his time. Well cursed-Gold hadn't had to live with this damned injury while living in a glorified shack, having to tend to sheep and a son and try pleasing a hateful wife that wished you were dead.

A handlebar for the tub was a fucking godsend.

Hair washed and skin scrubbed, Rumpelstiltskin shut off the water and shuffled out slowly. He plucked his robe off the back of the bathroom door once he was dry and shrugged into it, trying not to look at himself in the mirror. He was never a handsome man to start with, but the past eight months had made him feel his age.

His _real_ age.

There was spread around his middle despite how he'd dropped weight because he couldn't eat. Or maybe he was just really fat before and hadn't noticed it. There were shadows under his eyes like black holes. His shorn hair was white and with a few streaks of silver left. Never thought he'd miss the gray hair. Then there were the deep wrinkles gouged around his dull, sunken eyes. His skin sagged along his jaw and under his chin where he had, in fact, lost weight, giving him an unappealing, unhealthy appearance. He couldn't have been more than fifty, though the years had blurred, but he looked twenty years older than _that_.

Shit.

When did he start staring at himself in the damned mirror? That was a mistake.

Thoroughly disheartened by his body, once again, Rumpelstiltskin hobbled back to his room. Perhaps the one _nice_ thing he could say about himself was that his short haircut dried in next to no time, while his longer hair took much...longer.

He slipped into a fresh pair of black slacks and a gray undershirt, putting on a thicker pair of socks before stepping into his shoes. He put on a dark shirt, (he couldn't tell what color it was in the low lighting,) tucking it in but going without the vest or jacket. He didn't want to go around in a full suit today. Really he should have put on a sweater or something, but he was already out the room by then.

It was after five then. In the morning. He made a pot of tea, but went without food. He wasn't hungry yet, it was too early. Rumpelstiltskin sat in the living room and clicked on a lamp with his teacup close by. He dug the square he'd been working on out of his knitting basket and went back to working at it. This was destined to be a blanket, made in a series of blocks from yarn in shades of purple, from palest lavender to a shade of deep violet that ironically almost matched the shirt he was wearing.

One of Oliver's first father's day gifts he picked out by himself was a dress shirt, one that was royal blue with silver pinstripes. As far as four-year-olds and clothing went, it was a very tasteful choice. Henry had remarked that color looked good on him, so slowly, Rumpelstiltskin had purchased some new dress shirts that weren't black or gray. Most of his shirts were jewel tones, dark and deep, but there was the odd pop of color permeating his wardrobe. One that was bright turquoise, one in magenta because he'd had one like that years before and was fond of the color, one in a golden color he liked wearing on April Fool's Day that only got a reaction out of Belle, Henry, Regina, and surprisingly, Astrid. Then again, Astrid had been surrounded by sparkling _gnats_ all named after colors-

"Grandpa?"

Rumpelstiltskin turned around, finding Henry standing there and staring at him from the doorway. The lad's hair was sticking every way but straight, there was a prickle of stubble on his young face and he was still in his pajamas.

A glance at the clock declared it was a little over a quarter to six.

"Are you..."

"I'm alright," Rumpelstiltskin said. And...it wasn't a total lie. "I'm just thinking. It was a little early for breakfast."

"Oh," Henry nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Um...so...pancakes?"

"I was thinking omeletes unless you've a craving for pancakes."

"I think we've got spinach and bacon," Henry said, grinning. "I could do omeletes. Lemme get dressed, I have to run to the shop to finish cleaning a watch for one of the dwarves. How do you clean them so fast?"

"Practice. And cursed knowledge."

Henry huffed something that sounded suspiciously like _"damned magic fingers"_   and moved to go back upstairs. Rumpelstiltskin put his knitting away and checked the teacup beside him. It was just warm enough to not be cold, so he downed it in one gulp and made for the kitchen. He poured another cup of tea from the kettle and set it in the microwave, put on a pot of coffee for Henry,  and started picking out the appropriate ingredients for omeletes. Spinach. Bacon to be diced up. Eggs, of course. And some onions for Henry, and tomatoes for himself.

Oliver had never been a child that disliked vegetables. Except for those that were green. He was willing to make exceptions in the case of some foods, a good green bean casserole, a salad drowned in ranch dressing, and spinach in a spinach-and-bacon omelete. Oliver liked to put ketchup on everything, and his omeletes were no different, of course.

It didn't taste bad at all, but Rumpelstiltskin liked the bacon too much to smother his omelet with ketchup.

He was warming up the pan when Henry returned, dressed in his dark blue suit and red tie, to start cracking eggs and cut up the bacon. Cooking was comforting to Rumpelstiltskin, something he knew he was good at. When Hopper suggested he focus on things he was good at, healthy hobbies, he called them, he'd bought a few more cookbooks and experimented. Apparently he was a better cook than either _Mrs. Jones_ or Regina, according to Henry. He had a long-standing tradition of bringing a crock of soup to Belle's door when either she or Oliver were sick. Or rather, sending Henry or Violet there so she didn't tip the soup over his head if she was in a bad mood.

Henry made two slices of toast, cut into triangles, (as toast should be,) and then they sat down to eat. Violet must've slipped away while Rumpelstiltskin had been passed out. Good. Violet was a perfectly lovely young lady, well-suited to Henry as Henry was well-suited for her. But it would be a bit too much for Rumpelstiltskin's old-fashioned sensibilities if the girl were to eat breakfast with them wearing one of Henry's shirts and a case of bedhead.

(By tacit agreement, all things Rumpelstiltskin didn't want to know about happened at the cabin he loaned Henry a key to.)

It didn't taste bad. Rumpelstiltskin managed three-fourths of the omelete, perhaps even four-fifths, a piece of toast, and another cup of tea before he grew disinterested. Henry seemed pleased with that and, with the gusto of youth, devoured his food and the scant leftovers on his grandfather's plate. Then he downed his coffee and started looking for his keys.

There was a bowl on the table near the door for such purposes, but like the dishwasher, its operation eluded Henry.

The keys were sitting over by the microwave, instead, and once Henry pocketed them, he came over and hugged Rumpelstiltskin. It was off, not part of their routine, but...it was alright. Nice.

"I'll be home for lunch, okay? Lemme know if you need anything while I'm out, I'm just a phone call away. So's Archie."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "Of course."

Henry gave him a look that said, _'I mean it, CALL ME.'_   He clearly learned that one from Regina. The thought almost cheered Rumpelstiltskin into a grin. Instead, he nodded again and made a shooing motion with his free hand.

"Go on, clean the watch. I think I'll finish that blanket I was working on."

Henry seemed satisfied, for now, and then made his way out the door with his coat. Rumpelstiltskin watched him go out the open door, heedless of the draft wafting inside his warm foyer.

The sun was starting to rise, slowly, rosy fingers creeping into the sky, the clouds purple in the dark sky. Henry looked very tall and adult walking down the sidewalk in his heavy coat, the world still cold and untouched by light, white snow almost blue in thick clumps on the ground, smothering grass and pavement alike. The few trees around were bare, skeletal things with icicles that glittered like jewels.

All in all, it was a rather pretty sight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This fic separates from canon before 6x04, and if you'd like to know what happened to Hyde, go over to _"The Unresolved: Between Then and Now"_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making headway with typing chapters for this! :) So if you wanna nominate this for something in the TEAs, I wouldn't mind at all. (Please?) Other than that, enjoy another not-so-painful chapter, and get your beating sticks out for a certain pirate...

Henry had gone over to the library because he wasn't planning, really, on opening the shop today anyway. It was a lazy, sleepy Friday in the middle of winter. People were all but hibernating after Christmas waiting on Valentines' Day to come around. Nobody was going to come into the pawnshop today.

Belle was at her desk, her attention on a book in front of her. (Naturally.) She jumped a little when Henry tapped the little bell on her desk, and smiled sheepishly when she saw it was just him.

"Sorry," she chuckled. "Good morning. What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering if I could take Oliver back home with me for lunch. How's he doing, anyway?"

"Not badly, I suppose. But he'll like going to lunch," she nodded, then bit her lip. "How's everything at home?"

Henry shrugged. "Not badly, I suppose? I...I really don't know. I'm kind of figuring this out as I go right now. It's...it's really not something I expected. You know?"

Belle smiled, her eyes more than a little wistful. "Of course. Um...here."

She handed him one of the books stacked beside her. It was a book about...huh. Caretaking, and taking care of yourself. Of course Belle would have a book on hand for something like this, she was probably doing research. That was actually a comforting thought. An informed Belle was a powerful ally, against a villain or an every day occurence. Henry smiled, tucking the book under his arm to dig out his library card.

"Thanks."

"Oh, don't bother with that," Belle waved her hand. "You'll bring it back, I know you."

"Bookworm to bookworm?"

"Exactly. You can go upstairs, that's where Oliver is."

"Okay," Henry nodded. And for a second he debated whether or not he should invite Belle to come with them. He had a hard time imagining Belle wanting to destroy Gold in a moment of his weakness, but his grandfather wouldn't be too crazy about Belle seeing him in a vulnerable state either. Still, if she was looking through what appeared to be books handling caretaking, depression, and PTSD, at least Henry could make her feel included in the process as more than ex-wife/mother-of-Oliver. "So...would you like to come over for lunch too?"

Belle hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm not...I'm not sure that's such a good idea, yeah? It's just...I-I really don't think so, I'm sorry. I was going to have lunch at Granny's anyway, with Tink and Astrid. I think they think if they don't see me then I'm not eating. Granny came by yesterday and extorted a promise for dinner on Sunday."

Henry laughed. "Extortion means she brought you food, too, doesn't it?"

"This is Granny we're talking about," Belle smiled. It wasn't a full-strength smile, but it wasn't weak either. Henry was glad to see it. He was worried about his grandfather more than anyone, then Oliver, but Belle, he worried about her too. And how she was doing.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was halfway finished with the last block, a bluish-purple color like stormy clouds, when he heard the front door unlock. He'd just gotten up before Oliver trotted in and wrapped himself around his waist with a chirped, "Hi Papa!"

"Hello son, what are you doing here?" Rumpelstiltskin smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"I'm a surprise for lunch," Oliver smiled back. " _Surprise_."

"Well I am indeed surprised, well done. Now I suppose I've got to take you into the kitchen and fit you in the oven."

"Ha-ha."

"He won't be ready to eat before dinner then," Henry added. "How about the microwave?"

Rumpelstiltskin plucked at his son's coat. "No, no. You've got to clean him properly. I'll need a large knife if you don't mind fetching one out the kitchen, Henry. Hmm," he moved on to poking Oliver's tummy and arms. "Not much meat, but I wager what's there is tender. Not quite stew material."

Oliver giggled, squirming away. "Papa!"

"I'm not joking! If you were a rabbit I'd send you back to the forest."

"Well, plan B then," Henry sighed, leaving his coat and wet shoes in the foyer. "Ham sandwiches. No cheese Oliver?"

"Please," Oliver nodded, then turned back to Rumpelstiltskin. "Did you really used to eat rabbits?"

"Aye, if we could catch them. Your brother was better at setting snares than me."

"Hmm...what do rabbits taste like?"

"Chicken."

"No really, what's it taste like?"

"Like chicken. Really plain unless you've got something to go with them," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. They usually had nothing to go with the rabbit except for some wild vegetables or whatever they could wrangle out of their tiny garden. "There's lots you could do with the fur though. Bae made himself a blanket out of the furs he collected by the time he was your age."

Oliver scrunched up his nose in a way that bore a strong resemblance to Baelfire. "I don't think I could make a bunny blanket like that. Maybe you should teach me how to knit instead." He nodded towards the unfinished square left on the couch.

Rumpelstiltskin hummed, wondering why he'd never thought of that. "If you'd like. Let's eat something first, hmm?"

Lunch went well. Oliver squirted some ketchup on his just-ham sandwich and Henry was eating those mesquite barbeque chips that smelled awful, and Rumpelstiltskin was sipping a cup of hot tea while his son and grandson had glasses of lemonade. Doc had come around the pawnshop for his pocketwatch without great incident, and Oliver was supposed to start school again on Monday.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't really have anything under "current events" to contribute, but he pushed that thought aside. He was having a _good_ day. He didn't need to ruin it with self-doubt because he didn't have anything to add over sandwiches today.

Tomorrow he had an appointment with Archie, and he had a vague idea that a key part of his recovery was going to be "baby steps" again. He'd hated the phrase when he first started therapy, but he'd come to understand it meant "tiny movements in the right directions" rather than anything demeaning or infantilizing. Baby steps. He could do that.

Henry volunteered to put the dishes away and Oliver took that as his chance to drag his father back into the den for a knitting lesson. Rumpelstiltskin dug a pair of needles out of the basket and picked up a random ball of yarn. He took the yarn and made a quick slip knot to slide onto the knitting needle.

"No matter what sort of project your doing, you always cast-on the yarn the same as this. Then you tighten it a bit, and you should leave this little loose tail of yarn here, you always weave that in later. Now with the working yarn here, you hold that like this, and make a sort of L-shape with your fingers here, see? Then you wrap the yarn around like that, and stick the needle through the loop between your fingers. Like that. And then pull it tight. That makes it your second loop on the needle. And you just keep doing it like that until you get however many casts on the needle your pattern requires."

Rumpelstiltskin did it slow the first few times, his son's blue eyes focused on every movement, until he smirked and went at his usual speed. Which was rather quick, if he did say so himself. Oliver's eyes widened and his mouth fell open a bit.

"Now, if you mess up," he said, pausing. "You can unravel the yarn like this...there. Now, would you like to try?"

Oliver nodded, accepting the needle. Rumpelstiltskin gave him another ball of yarn, and watched Oliver slowly cast the first few loops on admirably well for his first try.

"That's perfect, just like that," he nodded. "Now, for simplicity sake, I think you should start off with a simple block like I've got here..."

* * *

Belle tried to remember the last time she had lunch with friends.

Belle tried for a full minute before giving up.

She put a red beret on her head and shrugged into a woolen coat. There wasn't much of a _summer_ in Storybrooke, not particularly warm and sunny like in the Marchlands, but at least it was a season that didn't snow constantly. She was looking forward to warmer weather...soon. Very soon. February started next week, didn't it? Maybe that damned groundhog would see his shadow-Or was it not seeing the shadow? It was all nonsense anyway.

What the hell was she doing?

Belle shouldered her purse and locked up the library, crossing the street to the diner. Henry had taken Oliver off at around eleven, something like forty-five minutes ago. She really ought to be in the diner before the lunch crowd arrived. Maybe Astrid had the same idea, because she waved Belle over to her spot at the counter.

It was a little odd seeing Astrid early, honestly. She'd always been a bit flighty, and once she'd had children (particularly the twins,) it was rare to see her on time for anything. Early? That was as rare as a two-horned albino unicorn.

"Hi Belle," she chirped. "How are you?"

"Um, good, good. Oliver went to his father's for lunch. It'll be good for him to get out the house, I think, he's on the edge of cabin fever at the moment." The last sick day her son took, Belle had caught him stacking all his books up in a tower. And since he was her son, he'd needed to stand in a chair to keep adding to that stack. Luckily nothing quite of the sort had happened this week. So far.

"Hmm...well, my offer still stands, if there's anything you need help with, just let me know."

Belle nodded, and Ruby set down a glass of iced tea in front of her without asking. Probably because except for a stint in her pregnancy when Dr. Whale suggested she cut back on the tea because of the caffeine, Belle had never ordered anything _but_ iced tea. Astrid had a lemonade she sipped thoughtfully while Ruby leaned on her elbows behind the counter. She kept up some idle, non-threatening conversation about the cold-as-hell weather until Tink arrived, and that was starting to grate on Belle's nerves.

After the well-wishers (snoopers,) had gone through the library, they'd come around later to return their library books and started talking about the most bland, innane things. Like there was an elephant in the room they were trying to avoid.

Well Belle had only a slight connection to Rumpelstiltskin at the time of his...of his...at this time, so there was really no need to handle her with kid's gloves.

Tink ordered a Coke and chicken club. Belle ordered a BLT, and Astrid a cup of chicken noodle soup. After defending her choice to Tinkerbelle, ("I _like_ chicken noodle soup! It's _good_!") Astrid said that the reason she was early was because Leroy had taken charge of Peter and Joseph for the day. He had some repairs to do around the house so the boys were probably going to play at being handymen for the rest of the afternoon. As long as they didn't stick keys in the electrical outlets again, that wouldn't be a problem.

"I mean, when the time comes I'll probably cry and worry, but I can't wait for them to go to kindergarten for a few hours a day," Astrid sighed a little. "Poor Grace."

The Mad Hatter's daughter had become the kindergarten teacher. Just another occurence in Storybrooke, nothing to see here. But Grace was very good with her young charges, she'd taken over admirably from the previous kindergarten teacher three years ago.

"I think she'll be alright," Belle said. "I mean, Opal, Oliver, and Garrick didn't burn down the classroom, and there was three of them."

"I suppose so," Astrid nodded. "God, was that really like five years ago? Time passes so quickly now, what happened? When we were cursed nothing ever happened but now it's like if you blink you've missed something."

Tink shrugged. "I agree that time flies, though I wasn't cursed like that. I just spent three or four _decades_ on Neverland in exile."

"I was cursed _and_ locked under the hospital for thirty years," Belle added. " _After_ I was locked in a tower for two years in the old world."

Tink and Astrid looked at each other and back at Belle.

"You win." Tinker Bell conceded, clinking her Coke glass to Belle's iced tea.

Belle had to smile. She wasn't as close to Tink as she was to Astrid, but they weren't strangers either. Garrick was Oliver's other best friend than Opal, and Garrick and Opal had bonded over being half-fairy kids. They were like school mom's...but not, since Tink worked at the Rabbit Hole and was a single mom, Astrid was still seen as a ditzy fairy wrong for falling in love with a dwarf, and Belle...well she wasn't sure why people looked at her oddly, but she imagined it was a mix of pity and revulsion at bearing the Dark One's spawn. It wasn't like she'd been the mother of the Antichrist, she'd just had an unplanned pregnancy with her estranged husband...who was the Dark One.

Okay, on certain days she could see why they'd think of Rumple as the devil, but Oliver was hardly a Damien Thorn. The point was they had some not-so-typical families since they were not-so-typical mothers and just naturally stuck together.

Without a trio of sixes marking any of their offspring.

Lunch progressed in a pleasant conversational fashion. There was an upcoming fieldtrip to the fairy dust mines and Astrid had volunteered to chaperone. Belle hadn't volunteered because there was a Valentines Day party taking place at Granny's a few days afterwards and she'd volunteered to help decorate, Tink hadn't volunteered because she was terrified of being underground. Tink had also talked about Archie coming by Marco's house for a visit with Figaro. The dog was not quite ready yet for sitting in the office, and still had that puppyish urge to chew on _everything_ that fit in his mouth. Oliver was due back at school on Monday and Astrid had offered to pick him up that day because she had to take Opal to get her hair trimmed that day and would be going by the library.

It was nice. Belle had a good time, and she'd actually laughed more than once. It was a pleasant distraction.

Once the bills were paid and lunch had been eaten, they said their goodbyes and filed out the diner with full intent of going their separate ways. And then they had to run into Killian.

There was no way around him because he was literally holding the door open for them. It wasn't practical to turn around and leave out the B&B entrance since they were literally right _there_ , so they had to go out. And then Killian said, "Hello ladies, having a bit of girl-time?"

"We had lunch," Belle replied, though she really wished she hadn't. She'd been having a nice day so far, and she didn't need an unwanted social interaction spoiling it. "We were just leaving."

Astrid drifted closer to Tink when Killian did that thing where he shifted on his feet like he was settling in, usually when he was about to speak for awhile, and Belle mentally kicked herself.

Other than Rumpelstiltskin, for obvious reasons, between the sucking them all into a hat (magical duress or no,) and his own stint as the Dark One, almost all the fairies were wary of Killian. The idea of talking to him was undoubtedly horrifying to Astrid, and it was insensitive of Belle to make her stand there and sweat.

"Well, don't let me keep you," he smiled. "How's Oliver doing? He seemed a little upset last time I saw him in the diner."

"He's well, thank you. He's at his father's house today," she could wrap this up quickly, that was a perfect way to excuse herself-

"Are you sure that's wise? I mean, the Crocodile isn't exactly in a good place to be keeping an eye on the lad. Why isn't he at school, anyway?"

Belle felt that if her mood were a balloon, this conversation was slowly leaking the air out of it.

Why, oh why, did it have to be Killian that caught them? Why not David, or Regina, or Emma, or even Ashley " _Look at what a better mommy and wife I am_ " Boyd? Because as much as she tried burying the hatchet, some of his words, and the way he spoke them, dug in and exposed it all over again. Belle was always a firm believer in the high road, but keeping to the high road was so difficult when people kept throwing down obstacles.

But then: _Tinker Bell_.

The blonde fairy looped her arms through Belle and Astrid's, and her voice was coated with sugary-sweetness. "Well maybe because his father almost died. Gold and _his son_ are _inseparable_ , you know?"

The slight smile to Killian's lips melted. Belle wasn't sure what that was about, but she suspected it was a jibe, a veiled reference to _something_ that wounded the pirate's enormous pride. Tink had no respect for Killian Jones, and in fact, that was probably one of the reasons she and Rumple had always been so cordial. Again, Belle believed in the high road, but sometimes the low road made for a convenient escape.

"Ah. Still," Killian attempted to continue. "I'm not sure it's wise for the lad to be around the Crocodile in such a state, don't you think?"

"Henry's there," Belle added. "He'll call me if something happens. Now, ah, have a nice day, we have to be off."

"Bye Jones, see you around," Tink nodded firmly, pulling Belle and Astrid along with her as she turned on her heel and strode off.

Once they were out of earshot, (though Killian had likely gone inside, too,) Tink released them with a noisy huff of air.

"Arrogant, self-righteous seascum!" she hissed. "Bloody leather-arsed nuisance, who the hell does he think he is?"

"Tink-"

"Oh don't you dare defend him!" the blonde glared. "You might only be married to Gold on paper, but you can't honestly say you aren't shaken up about this whole mess and _that_ man deserves to have a say in your affairs?"

Belle pursed her lips. Her initial instinct was to say that Tinker Bell wasn't being fair, that she was taking this a little too far. But she was right about one thing: This mess had shaken Belle up.

It was upsetting to think about her life if Rumple had been...successful. Where would they leave her? With a fat bank account and a fatherless son who looked just like _him_ , and a million things unsaid driving her insane.

No. Nobody from the extended Charming Clan had a right to criticize her except for the one that was Rumple's grandson-

"He's kind of creepy, isn't he?" Astrid piped up, breaking Belle's train of thought. "Hook? Especially when we're talking about Mr. Gold...why's he still so rude to him?"

Tink snorted. "Probably because he can't stand the thought of 'the Crocodile' having a sliver of happiness in his life," she glanced at Belle and winced. "Ah, so...I-I've got some errands to run. I'm...sorry if I burst your bubble-"

"No," Belle smiled. It felt a little brittle on her face. "No, it's not your fault we had a dark cloud at the end of it. I had a lovely time until then, but I have to get back to the library now. Thanks for lunch, it was nice."

Tink didn't look too terribly convinced even as she nodded. Astrid squeezed Belle's hand as they said their goodbyes and they parted ways, Belle needing to walk across the street to return to the library.

The stack of books she'd had on her desk remained, excluding the one she'd loaned to Henry. It was a sort of self-help book for caretakers, in the sense of being in charge of caring for someone that needed support. There was a wide variety of reasons someone might need a caretaker, from children to the very elderly, progressive diseases or lifelong illness, bodily or psychological. Surprisingly it wasn't all about the ill person, that book had a plethora of information dedicated solely to the wellbeing of the caretaker themself. Obviously Henry ought to get more use out of it than Belle at the moment.

She picked up another book, this one focused more on self-help for depression. She'd made sporadic forays into this realm when Rumpelstiltskin was free of Zelena over a decade ago when she suspected something wasn't quite right, but at the time she'd wanted to shove that thought on a shelf and push it _far_ away because she was pouring all her energy into believing their marriage would be their happily-ever-after.

Perhaps if she'd bothered to look at his sudden proposal with a more critical eye as opposed to being as desperate for some normality and happiness as he was, they wouldn't be in this mess now. But blame wasn't really going to fix this, so she tucked that thought away and settled down to read at her desk.

They'd both made mistakes, but maybe it wasn't too late to start correcting them...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is up for two Angst categories, and Oliver is up for best Rumbelle child in the TEAs. Thank you for those nominations! <3 Now behold! Belle has friends!

Leroy had given Peter and Joseph a small tape measure that kept their attention occupied while he changed a lightbulb in the kitchen that had been flickering obnoxiously since the night before. There. That sagging bathroom cabinet, the loose board on the porch, and the wobbly railing on the stairs where Opal got her head stuck a few months ago were all tended to.

(The twins may cause more eccentric trouble, but Opal wasn't an innocent either.)

He found the boys stretching out the tape as far as it could go in the hallway, something like twelve feet, and herded them into the kitchen for lunch. He and Astrid weren't going to win any awards for cooking anytime soon, but grilled cheese sandwiches were within his skill-set.

Only, when Leroy turned to ask if they wanted ham on their sandwiches, he found only one twin sitting at the table.

"Where did your brother go?"

"Outside," Peter answered, playing with the salt shaker. "Can I have an apple juice?"

"Why's Joseph outside?"

"I dunno."

Leroy walked to the mudroom that connected to the back door. Before he could reach the knob, it turned, and Joseph was coming back inside. He looked up at Leroy with those innocent eyes that usually meant he was unaware he shouldn't be doing something. And in this case, that meant going outside in his socks without a coat on.

"Why were you outside?" he asked, closing the door. Joseph didn't quite have the _oomph_ needed to push the heavy door shut by himself.

"It's lunchtime, Sam's hungry."

"Sam?" Leroy repeated. "Who's Sam?"

"My cat."

"Joe, we don't have a cat."

"Nope. Sam's _my_ cat."

Okay...well, as long as Joseph wasn't seeing people that turned out to be dead people that turned out to be demons, or renacted the Amityville Horror, he could have an imaginary cat. Leroy put a hand on his back and nudged him forwards. "Okay then, but it's too cold for you not to wear shoes out, alright?"

"Oh. Yeah," Joseph wiggled his toes in his socks. "What's for lunch?"

"Grilled cheese, or, grilled ham and cheese sandwiches."

"I like ham. Can I have apple juice?"

"Sure."

Joseph trotted off to the kitchen happily, but Leroy paused. He took a look out the back door and frowned. Sitting on the top step was a little plastic saucer, the kind Astrid put under her houseplants to catch excess water. Only it had a little pile of sardines on it. How had Joseph gotten his hands on a tin of sardines while his back was turned?

Leroy made a note of that for later, and went back inside. He really shouldn't have left his sons alone with a hot skillet...

Luckily, they were sitting at the kitchen table with their juice boxes and the house remained unburned.

After lunch, Leroy loaded their plates into dishwasher and tasked Peter and Joseph with putting their laundry into a basket. (Yes, _all_ their dirty laundry, including whatever they'd pushed under the bottom bunk of their bed, but no, _shoes_ didn't go in the washing machine.) He had their clothes in the dryer before Astrid came home just before two.

Peter and Joseph got their hugs in before they scurried away squealing _"eww!"_   when Astrid gave him a peck on the lips. Currently they were in a "kisses are icky" phase, which meant the easiest way to make them leave the room was obvious, and one Leroy couldn't really complain about.

"So? The house is still standing," she said, hanging up her coat and handing Leroy her purse and a shopping bag. Ah. Wood screws and an extension cord, he'd been needing those. "Good day?"

"Yep. Not a single key in a single electrical outlet," he reported, pecking her cheek. "How was lunch?"

"Good..." Astrid hesitated, which gave him pause. "Lunch was good."

"Okay. And how's Belle?"

Astrid fidgeted with the fringe of her scarf. "Well, she was a little quiet at first, but she seemed to get better while we ate. I think she'll be okay. I'd say we had a good time until we went to leave the diner, then Hook-" oh what the hell? "-held the door on our way out, and he stopped Belle to talk to her."

"What the hell did he want?" Leroy frowned. He never liked Hook. The man was a walking sexual harrassment case until he got in Emma's pants, (take _that_ however you'd like,) and that wasn't counting a long list of unrelated bullshit like killing Merlin, waiting until the eleventh hour not to commit genocide, openly mocking anyone he didn't approve of...

"I don't know," Astrid shrugged, looking uncomfortable just at the memory. The fairies had their own grudge against Hook, and just passing him in the grocery store made Astrid look skittish. Leroy squeezed her hand and she gave him a weak smile. "Mostly he just wondered where Oliver was, and then tried to give Belle his...unwanted opinion. Tink got us out of there though."

Unsurprising: A few decades trapped on Neverland meant Tink wasn't afraid of much of anything, especially Hook.

Then Astrid bit her lip, leaning forwards secretively. "She called him a leather-assed nuisance. Not to his face, but, well, that was kind of funny."

Leroy snorted. "Good for her. How's Belle now though?"

"She's...I think she got a little upset, but I'm not sure. She's pretty good at acting like something doesn't bother her, you know? I wasn't sure she'd want me to go after her, so we let her head back to the library."

Belle was great at giving help, but terrible at asking for it. She'd accept it from almost anyone though, which made Leroy wonder if everyone she called a friend was actually a _friend_ , or if they just had been kind to her at one point. He did recall, long ago, her giving sound advice to a lovestruck idiot in a tavern, but being completely unwilling to take a chance and go on her own adventure.

Hmm...

"Do you mind if I take Opal to the library after school today?"

* * *

Aunt Regina wasn't here yet, but Robbi waved to David who was sitting in his idling truck waiting on Ruth and Neal. He was a nice man, she liked to imagine her father was like him. Mum never talked about him, and she got irritated if she asked.

Friday afternoons saw all the kids, of all ages, running out the school to go home for the weekend, even if they had homework to complete. Cleo Jones skittered down the steps hand-in-hand with her friends Lydia Lucas-Gale and Stephanie Briars, miraculously not slipping. The Herman kids all piled into their mom's SUV, and other kids piled onto the school bus in a mass...what had Oliver called it that time they'd waited on the steps for Henry to take them to the library? A _mass exodus_.

She still wasn't sure what that was, but it sounded grand.

"Bye Robbi, see you Monday!" Ruth chirped, skipping down the steps. Her hair was dark, black and shiny and perfectly straight. It bounced while she skipped, her fuzzy white earmuffs acting like a headband to keep it perfectly out of her blue eyes.

"Yeah, see ya Robbi," her brother Neal grinned, bumping Robbi's shoulder as he passed her. He was blonde like his father, but his eyes were that greeny-brown color like Mrs. Nolan's. He had a really cool coat that was black with a skull and crossbones on the back. "Look out for the Green Blunder, he's right behind you!"

Robbi turned around to find Garrick Booth standing there. He'd gotten all his springy blonde curls cut short, and his head looked smaller than it did before.

A few kids were sitting on the steps waiting on their rides, one of them being Opal, (Opal... _Opal_...what was their last name?) wearing her puffy coat that made her look like a bumpy marshmallow with a purple beanie hat. She glared at Neal when he passed her and she'd said something Robbi couldn't catch, so Neal kicked her backpack as he went by. It almost fell off the step until she caught it, and Neal grinned down at Opal before bounding to the curb.

"That was rude," Garrick said from beside Robbi. "Why'd he do that?"

"She said something to him first."

"It's still rude. He's been picking on Opal all day, I almost wish I grabbed my mom's coat again to distract him."

Garrick had come to school wearing his mother's denim jacket in October, which had rhinestones all over the chest pockets. They'd called him "Garrabelle" all day and his lips turned blue on the playground when he tried going without it. It...it wasn't as funny as Robbi thought it was at the time, when she remembered it now.

But Opal was really crabby and rude all week. Robbi thought for sure she was going to strangle Tommy Herman when he said, _"She misses her boyfriend Oliver!"_

That wasn't as funny as it had been earlier that day either, huh...

Robbi and Garrick made their way down the stairs and Garrick sat down by Opal, digging in his own backpack until he came up with a package of fruit snacks.

"You want the orange ones?" he offered. "I'll give you the yellow ones, too."

Opal's hard frown softened. "No thanks Garrick, it's a nice gesture though." Her brown eyes drifted up and landed suspiciously on Robbi, which made her shift uncomfortably where she was standing. Sometimes they got along, and sometimes Opal was really grouchy with her. Sometimes Robbi understood she'd been rude, and sometimes she thought Opal was just being sour. Socializing was hard.

"So...is Mr. Gold out the hospital yet?" Robbi blurted. "My aunt said he was sick."

"Yeah, he came home yesterday, I think," Opal said, the hardness in her face softening again. (Good, she looked too much like her grumpy father when she did that, it was _creepy_.) "Oliver's hoping to see him soon."

"Well, that's good..."

"I hope Mr. Gold's gonna be okay," Garrick said, fumbling to open the slick plastic of the fruit snack package with his mittens on. "He's nice."

"He's nice?" Robbi blinked, sitting down on the steps. The concrete was cold under her butt, she hoped she wouldn't have to sit long before Aunt Regina showed up. "I always heard he was scary. Mum says he's the most powerful sorcerer in the realms."

Garrick shrugged, giving up with his fingers and tugging on the plastic with his teeth. "Mi'zr Go' s'always been nice t' me-" he succeeded in ripping the package open at last, spitting out the piece left in his mouth. "Phoo! He used to be our landlord before we moved in with my grandfather, but he wasn't mean then either."

"He's just Oliver's dad to me," Opal nodded. "I think it was all that black he used to wear, remember that Garrick? That was kind of scary."

"Naw," Garrick shook his head, popping a purple snack into his mouth. "The Dark One can wear black. They don't make anything darker than black."

"Garrick, no offense," Robbi put her hand on his shoulder. "But you're not old enough to understand high fashion."

"I'll be nine in March!"

"Girls mature faster than boys, and, I'll be eleven in September, so I'm already older than you. One day you'll understand matching colors in clothes."

"But I know already know colors! I _like_ colors!"

"That's true, he's good with colors," Opal said, nodding sagely. "For a young person."

"You just turned nine at the start of this month!"

"Yes. And you're still eight," Opal stuck her tongue out. "Therefore I am more mature, being both nine and a girl. That makes me like a ten and a half, right?"

Garrick retaliated by cramming his fruit snacks into his mouth, chewing twice, and opening his mouth to show the mess to Opal.

"Ewww! That's gross!" she squealed, shoving Garrick away when he tried to lean closer. "Shut your mouth Booth, nobody wants to see that!"

Robbi burst into giggles along with Garrick, (once he choked down the mess in his mouth,) and even Opal started to giggle before long. Then, Aunt Regina's car pulled up to the curb, and further down the street, Opal's dad was walking towards the school. For once, Robbi almost wished her aunt had been a little late.

She stood up and brushed whatever snow or dirt might be sticking to her skirt, adjusting the straps of her backpack.

"Bye Robbi!" Garrick chirped unexpectedly. "Have a good weekend!"

Except for Ruth and Neal...nobody really said goodbye to Robbi at school, at least none of the other kids. She was still the weird girl who lived alone with her mother. Even if she lived with Aunt Regina now. She might've expected Garrick to say goodbye, because he was a nice boy, but Opal smiled a little, too, and waved her off. Huh.

Oh, right!

"Thanks," she smiled shyly. "You two have fun too."

* * *

Oliver had been returned to the library mid-afternoon no worse for wear, as expected. He was in good spirits that rose to even better spirits when Opal and Garrick, (escorted by Leroy,) came by after school. They went upstairs, and Belle thought she heard them talking about working on that birdhouse that Oliver had been sent. All his paper assignments had been completed, but the birdhouse remained in pieces in a plastic baggie.

Leroy leaned on the circulation desk, watching the trio dart away to take the stairs. (Garrick hated enclosed spaces, they always took the stairs together.) "Birdhouse?"

"Yeah..."

"I'll never know what's with Snow and birds. I mean, I've seen the Disney movie, but she never got any fuzzy woodland creatures to help her clean house. I don't think she actually talks to them."

Belle snorted. "Well, if we're being honest, Disney was hardly a good representation of any of us, anyway. Except maybe Anna and Elsa, they did alright there. The trolls weren't quite so exuberant though."

"Well I don't expect your father was the nutty professor type, so yeah, not a good representation," Leroy rolled his eyes. "Speaking of your father, Sneezy says you stood up to him in the pharmacy the other day."

God. What news didn't travel by Granny's Diner, traveled by dwarf.

"Yeah, well-"

"Don't apologize, he deserved it I'm sure."

Belle let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She even managed a wobbly smile. "Thanks...I-I think he had it coming, really, but it wasn't really much of an argument. Just a...loud statement."

Leroy nodded in approval. Something Belle valued about Leroy was that he was very obvious in his approval, or disapproval. Maybe she didn't always agree with his conclusions, but he was very easy to read. Plus, he let her keep her own opinions, even when she might be wrong. One of the best talks she'd ever had was in that narrow window between the Heroes leaving for the Underworld and that vortex that sucked her, Robbi, and Zelena down there themselves. Leroy and Granny had sussed out she was getting back together with Rumple, ( _at the time_ ,) and Leroy acted as a sounding board for her ideas on how to proceed when Rumple returned.

Sadly he hadn't returned so much as...taken her to hell, really. Hmm.

"So Oliver looks alright. You doing okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay," Belle smiled a bit more genuinely. Something about Killian's statements had poked holes in her mood, the general idea that Rumple was unfit to have lunch with his son without causing him harm upsetting, really, but she thought she had recovered well. "Henry says Rumple's okay too, better than expected."

Leroy narrowed his eyes a bit. "You haven't seen him yet? I thought you saw him in the hospital?"

"Well, I did, but he wasn't awake while I was there," Belle replied. She felt a prickling sensation and identified it as guilt. Not necessarily because she hadn't been there, but more because she was...still _not_ there.

(Oddly enough, according to Henry, it wasn't actually a coma. Whale had said it was more of a lengthy period of unconsciousness, since a  _coma_  typically came with brain damage. Good to know.)

"So you haven't talked to him since he woke up? Why?"

There wasn't really any judgment in Leroy's tone, which was probably what kept Belle from snapping an answer back. (Not that she had one.) She looked down to a stack of index cards that she was nervously straightening with her hands, before she forced herself to put them down.

"I...it's...Leroy, I make big mistakes whenever I come to Rumple in a crisis," she blurted, finding she'd started fiddling her fingers together. "Name one time I made things better by butting in."

"Zelena. He was a jabbering idiot in a cage until you spoke to him in the old world, and the only thing that gave him pause here."

"And then, maybe a year later, I go to the same woman for a sleeping curse because I didn't trust him to save our child."

"Look sister," Leroy spread his hands. "My wife, Astrid, who's blushes when she says 'damn', who was a fairy before she was a nun, who catches spiders in cups and lets them outside, _that_ Astrid, would probably kill an Ogre with her bare hands if it endangered our kids. You weren't thinking clearly, you were protecting the kid. That doesn't count."

"Fine, then my staying on the Jolly Roger? Ever been at sea with morning sickness before? That was stupid _and_ selfish."

"And you were still reeling from everything in the Underworld, and Gold was still being an asshole. But Hyde and the Evil Queen weren't exactly making it easy for you two to talk, either."

Belle pressed her lips together. "Look. You know that the last time I tried talking to Rumple on a personal level, I screwed up and he slammed the door shut in my face. We just...I cannot go up to him now and...and I just can't, I can't do it, it's pathetic, but I can't. I'll make things worse."

Leroy's weathered face softened. It wasn't quite pity, but it was something sympathetic. "Belle. Do you remember what made me go after Astrid? You said that I'd never know if we actually stood a chance at being happy together if I never tried to find out."

Yeah...that's what she said in the diner when he was being her sounding board...

"Now I'm not saying you have to be Gold's wife again, but you do deserve to be happy. And you're never gonna be happy until you know where you stand."

Yeah. That did sound like something she'd say.

Damn it.

Belle swallowed. "And if he hates me?"

Leroy actually rolled his eyes.

"If you hit him in the head with a brick, he'd forgive you. You don't have to make it work, you just have to...I dunno, get your point across. Are you glad he's alive?"

"Yes," Belle nodded. And she was. She was very, very glad, even if she wasn't sure what to do now. "I am."

"Seems like a good place to start then."

It did. Belle nodded again, smiling at her little revelation. That was a good place to start. Simple. All she had to do was screw up the nerve to apply her new logic. Maybe...well, she did have one idea...

She'd have to run it by Henry first though...

* * *

Henry and Violet were going out with another cluster of Storybrooke's younger generation after dinner. Something involving a projector set-up and the broad side of Regina's crypt. Why they wanted to go out and freeze at night in January while watching a creepy movie outside the cemetary was their own affair, Rumpelstiltskin decided. He would have Oliver overnight, and send him off in the morning to school.

Except for the way they kept sneaking glances at him, (and the fact that he had seen Archie Friday afternoon and was due again tomorrow...) nothing had really changed.

And now Belle was on his doorstep.

Logically, Rumpelstiltskin understood she was dropping off Oliver. They shared a child, that shouldn't have been much of a revelation at all. Hell, Henry said she'd be dropping Oliver off, he'd had warning in advance. And yet...there stood his...wife? Ex-wife? Co-parent? Hell.

There was Belle.

She was looking very pretty in her wool coat and leather boots, her curls pinned back from her face. Even if her smile was forced, she was still prettier than she had a right to be at that terribly awkward moment.

And then she spoke.

"Hey..."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, voting for the TEAs starts tomorrow, (yay!) and secondly, BEHOLD THE RUMPLE AND BELLE INTERACTION!!! Enjoy both or either! :)

Belle was going to throw up.

No, no she could do this.

No, oh god, no, no she couldn't...

Her thoughts ranged from bravery to sheer terror all through Saturday and Sunday once she made the arrangement with Henry. Dropping Oliver off was an innocuous chance for her to face Rumpelstiltskin in a nonthreatening, unobtrusive manner. She was literally just walking their son to the door, she didn't even have to come inside. It was perfectly safe, from an emotional standpoint.

If only she didn't talk herself out of it...

Oliver must've noticed something was up with her, because he kept watching her fuss around the apartment until he went to pack his overnight bag with what he needed for school tomorrow. He had painted that birdhouse with a red roof and gray walls, which would have been pretty, but Belle couldn't tell if those yellow-and-orange patterns around the lower parts of the walls were flowers...or flames. If it were the latter, well, it was less "pretty" and more of a "birdhouse on fire" look.

(The mother in Belle decided they were flowers and left it at that.)

She fussed for nearly an hour with her clothes and hair before realizing it was utterly stupid: She wasn't going on a date, certainly not with her estranged husband at that, she was merely leaving their son to spend the night so she was free to go to the Lucas-Gale house for dinner. Ruby had sent her and Dorothy's little adoptive daughter Lydia to a friend's house for a sleepover, and Snow had taken on their younger son Todd to spend the night at the Charming house with their Leo, so it was just the adults.

(And since Ruby was essentially hosting, Belle could count on their being wine and wine-fueled conversation and complaints.)

The blue dress or the yellow one didn't matter.

She pinned her hair back with a clip and went to collect Oliver. He was sitting at the kitchen table staring at his birdhouse, (those were awful _fiery_ flowers...) with his coat and shoes on, all set to go.

And despite her stomach flip-flopping like a fish out of water, Belle thought the walk to Rumple's house was rather uneventful.

Oliver talked a little about what his friends said was going on at school. Today had been the first of February, so tomorrow they'd likely start making "those goofy Valentines decorations," for the classroom. Oliver wasn't a big fan of glitter. He despaired the arts-and-crafts projects at school that called for glitter, or worse, glitter-glue. He'd been very upset once when he'd gotten golden sparkles stuck all over his hands and clothes, and Belle thought that would have been a poor time to tell him about his father's _sparkly disco lizard_ look in the old world.

Henry's words, not hers.

And then the house came into view and Belle remembered the hundred little reasons she had no place on that doorstep. But it felt cowardly to just linger at the mailbox, so she bore on. Still...her legs wanted to turn and run when the door swung open.

Rumple looked...well he wasn't unconscious in a hospital bed, so she'd say he looked better. He'd shaved, he wore dark trousers, a black tie, and a crisp maroon shirt with pale gray pinstripes. Belle was getting used to seeing his cane again after his forgoing it for so many years, but he didn't look bad to her eyes. Even if he wasn't youthful or slim, he was still a handsome man, despite the tiredness in his brown eyes. And the wariness when they met hers, as if in disbelief she was standing there.

"Hey..."

It would have been easier if this were once upon a time, back when she could touch his pale face, (when had he gotten so pale?) or give a squeeze to his hand. Now all she really was allowed to do was smile in what she hoped was an earnest manner and not one that looked horrible.

She was certain she failed.

"H-hey..." Rumple nodded slowly, dropping his eyes to Oliver. She couldn't blame him, she did the same thing.

Oliver looked between them before shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder, balancing his birdhouse just under his arm. "I'm just gonna..." he wiggled, jostling his backpack, duffel bag, and the damned birdhouse all at once. "Unpack. Bye Mama."

"Bye baby, good luck with school tomorrow."

And then Oliver slithered by Rumple to get inside, and there was nothing left standing between them after that. That wouldn't have been a problem once upon a time either, but at this juncture, it just made things terrible, terrible quiet and awkward...

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin drew a total blank, staring at Belle once Oliver had escaped. Not that he had parents growing up to use as an example, but he was pretty sure that no child wanted to be standing between a mother and a father that had so much bloody history and tension between them you'd have better luck digging through it with a shovel than cutting it with a knife.

Also; The last time they'd been in this position, Belle was attempting an apology for her ill-informed outburst under the hospital, and Rumpelstiltskin's patience finally snapped at the exact wrong time. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd just let Belle have her way, trusted in her just the once, if they'd be in a better place now. Instead, they were staring at each other like alley cats sizing up the other's attitude in order to make the next move.

Fantastic.

"So, you...you, um..." Belle, brave Belle, cleared her throat. "How are you?"

"I...am as well as could be expected, according to Dr. Whale. He said I'll make a full recovery. Added that I ought to get out a little more, take a walk."

"Take a walk?"

"Taking walks, aye. My health was described as 'passable overall, with room for improvement', I believe. And...you? You're well?"

Great. He'd officially become the old man that complains about his health. Good impression, Rumple, solid work.

Belle shifted on her feet. "Well enough, no complaints. I, uh, I'm headed to dinner. At Ruby and Dorothy's house?"

Ah, yes. Nice little house. It had a red roof and door, unsurprisingly. Three years ago when Ms. Lucas and her lady Ms. Gale (and he supposed he should use _Ms._ rather than his standarad _Miss_ since they were all but married with children now,) had rented the property from him, he'd been more than a little surprised they had a little girl and a baby boy with them. They'd returned recently, (just before that last disastrous dinner with Belle,) from Who-Knows-Where, where they'd come across the two little orphans. It went without saying that they didn't remain orphans long, though.

"Ah," he nodded slowly. He didn't really have much else to say about it, honestly.

Neither did Belle, since she went back to shifting on her feet. She was doing that nervous tic of hers where she twisted her fingers together in front of her. Maybe she was expecting him to slam the door shut on her.

"I..." she began, then snapped her mouth shut, and then began once more. "I-I just...I just wanted you to know that I...that I'm glad you...I'm glad you're here. I really am."

It...it was nice to hear. He didn't know what she meant at all, if she was glad he was alive, or happy to see him, but it was nice, he supposed--

There was a clattering noise coming from the kitchen and a muffled cry. Rumpelstiltskin couldn't be sure, but he suspected Henry just dropped the skillet with the chicken cooking in it. His grandson had all the timing of his maternal line.

He went to move, but the door was still open. He glanced from Belle to back over his shoulder, swallowing a lump in his throat that had to be pure nerves.

"I should-I should go look at that-"

"Hypothetically, where would you keep the first-aid kit?" Violet called from within.

"You should, yeah," Belle nodded quickly. "I, uh, I have to be going, too. Um...g-good luck with whatever just...happened. Have a good night."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, feeling distinctly like a bobblehead as Belle turned down the steps and hurried down the drive, before he could properly say goodbye. Shit.

He shut the door and let his forehead thump against the stained glass.

It was the epitome of awkwardness and discomfort to approach your...ex, for the lack of a better term...on their home territory. Not that he had much of an advantage at the moment, but still, the principle remained. Belle used to live in this house with him, many, many years ago, and she was always uneasy here when they were coming off a rough patch. To say nothing of that fit he'd thrown three months ago...

But a small part of him liked to think she didn't hate him.

Then the rest would chime in with something like, _"No, she hates you,"_ or, _"You destroyed her faith in you multiple times here, you got what you deserved."_ Those parts were generally unhelpful, but also unbearably loud.

He hadn't seen Belle in the hospital. That wasn't too surprising since she had the library to run, and nobody to fill in on short notice. At least, as far as he knew. He wasn't really...he wasn't really _expecting_ her to show up at all, really, if he were honest. It would have been nice to have her there when he woke up from a coma (he was told it wasn't really a coma, since those usually came with brain damage, memory loss, and the need for therapy,) and...and squeeze his hand or give him a smile. Something that said she was glad he hadn't popped off overnight.

That seemed a little much to ask, though, since he'd been the one to slam the door in her face and essentially shatter anything that was left of their relationship outside of raising a son.

His will and farewell letters weren't on his bed anymore.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered if Henry had given Belle and Oliver the notes addressed to them. Oh dear lord, he hoped not. That would be the pathetic icing on the sorry cake of his existence. And even if Belle had...well obviously she hadn't because if he was recalling the letter correctly, it was the sort of self-pitying speech that always made her fuss. The kind that used to make her take him by the hand and gently stroke his hair when it was long and say, _"I love you, all of you, and you matter to me."_

Well, he knew he didn't, had all but screamed she didn't matter to him either, (he lied, oh, he lied,) so in a strange way this encounter was a bit cathartic. Belle knew he was alive, cared enough that she enquired after his health and was pleased he was not dead, perhaps. That was more than he could have wanted in this situation.

"Okay, I found the kit!"

Oh, right...

* * *

Henry felt like a dumbass.

He'd been straining his ears, trying to hear what Belle and Gold were saying in the foyer, and his attention had been, poorly, divided between that and the pan of chicken in front of him. He'd lifted the pan and intended to move it off the heat, but his hand had strayed too close to the burner. The heat was a shock more than anything, but then he dropped the pan on the stovetop and hot chickeny juice from the pan splashed out.

Nice work, Henry, nice work.

Violet dug out the first-aid kit and the little bottle of aloe vera for him. She could really do better than him if she tried, perhaps a boyfriend that wasn't his own grandmother's stepbrother and didn't screw up interactions between his paternal grandfather and his estranged wife?

The chicken wasn't ruined, (as Gold determined once he returned and got a grip on the situation,) and dinner was fine other than the bandage Violet applied to his hand out of caution, with a healthy smear of some more aloe underneath it. It must not have gone too badly, because Gold didn't turn sullen and reserved like he tended to do when he was brooding. He encouraged them to leave, that he and Oliver could handle the clean up, and yes, he would call if he needed them for anything.

Once they were out the door, Violet poked him in the ribs through his coat and giggled.

"If you wanted to eavesdrop, you could have left me in charge of the chicken."

* * *

Mama had been vibrating with nerves on the walk to Papa's house, but she hadn't fled or stayed by the mailbox and sent him ahead. She'd walked all the way up to the door, and smiled at Papa. Even if it was a weak smile, and even if she looked like she was about to turn and run. Oliver slipped into the house, hoping he could find a place to hide and listen to them. But they didn't say anything interesting. It was all really boring until Henry burned his hand, then Mama left.

Maybe Oliver could find a little bit of that nerve, (or fake it,) today.

He was back at school.

Unsurprisingly, the structure remained unchanged since last week. It was still standing, the windows still whole, every brick in place. Kids were hurrying up the steps around Oliver, dressed in their winter coats, hats, earmuffs, scarves and whatever else to keep them warm over their uniforms. He spotted one kid in a green army jacket two sizes too big for him and smiled.

He almost didn't recognize Garrick from behind without his curly mop, but that was him.

Garrick jumped a little, when he realized Oliver had fallen in step beside him, but then grinned. "Hey man, Happy Groundhogs Day!"

"Yeah right, like that's a real holiday."

"It's on the calendar."

"Yeah, and so's Grandparents Day. But I've never seen anyone celebrate grandparents, or groundhogs, have you?"

"I dunno about groundhogs, but, then, I don't know much about groundhogs in general. Have you ever seen one?"

Hmm...Oliver had not. He just assumed they were like moles. Maybe he should look up what the heck a groundhog was.

Suddenly a kid shot by them down the hall and around the corner. Judging from the curly brown-haired back of his head it was Phil, and he was running with a purple beanie held aloft in his hand. It was a very familiar-looking hat, a pinky-sort-of-purple and made from polar fleece, with a white reflective stripe...oh, that was Opal's winter hat-

Opal barrelled by them just as Oliver placed her hat, and she had the misfortune of slamming into Mr. Crane before she could get around the corner. It was bad enough she slammed a teacher, but she'd also been in the middle of shouting, _"YOU JERK GIMME BACK MY HAT!"_

Mr. Crane was the tallest teacher in Storybrooke, a skinny man with a hawkish nose and a weak chin that gave him the look of a judgmental stork. The sleeves of his blazer were an inch too short and he had huge feet at the end of his gangly legs. He'd been Henry's seventh grade teacher and the school science teacher, ten years ago, too, and he was indeed Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

He was also kind of a jerk himself.

He looked down his beaky nose at Opal, who he caught by the shoulder before she could run off again. "And where are you off too, young lady, in such a disgraceful manner?"

"I have to get my hat back-"

"Are you not aware, that running in the halls is prohibited?"

Opal shrugged him off with a scowl, but remained moodily standing where she was. There was no arguing with Mr. Crane. Oliver wasn't crazy about Mrs. Nolan because she was wishy-washy and let Neal get away with everything, but she wasn't mean. Mr. Crane was sharp-tongued and arrogant. He was the reason Oliver had looked up the difference between "despotism" and "dictatorship" because he wasn't sure which term applied better.

It was despotism, by the way.

"Yes sir," Opal muttered.

"Then can I assume you will _walk_ to your homeroom now?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. See that you do. If you have a problem with a bully, then you should tell your teacher. This is not Lord of the Flies. You needn't hunt the enemy down like a savage tigress."

Oliver wondered if he should point out literary references to books nine-year-olds hadn't read didn't make you look smarter, it made you look pretentious and snobby. He was also willing to bet there were no tigresses in that book anyway.

"Yes Mr. Crane, may I got now?" Opal said, her hands clasped behind her back. From the front it probably looked penitent, but from where Oliver was standing it looked a lot more impatient.

Mr. Crane stepped aside and nodded. "Certainly, off you go. I'll see you three after lunch."

He probably meant to make that sound scary, but Oliver could never take Mr. Crane too seriously. It was hard to when you were imagining him riding through the woods on a nag being scared to death by a jack o'lantern. Once he walked off, they had to hurry-but-not-run to get to class on time. Oliver put his birdhouse on Mrs. Nolan's desk before he darted to the coat room to ditch his jacket and stow his backpack away.

Opal plopped into her chair, glaring daggers at the back of Phil's head where he was sitting ahead of them with Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman. Phil had been held back last year for failing math, and he, Neal, and Tommy started playing softball together so they became an Unholy Trio of bullies. Phil wasn't as vicious as Tommy and Neal, but, his favorite target was Opal and that earned him a special sort of dislike from Oliver. 

It was a testament to how terrible this day was shaping up to be when he noticed Phil had _purposefully_ tucked Opal's hat into his back pocket, where it was securely placed but not overly obvious as he sat there taunting her with it.

Mrs. Nolan arrived, running a bit late. She set down her books and purse at the desk and greeted them with a quick, "Morning class!"

"Good morning Mrs. Nolan." they all recited as they had since September.

Oliver glanced down at the purple fleece under Phil's butt. Now, it was sitting right there in open view of anyone who noticed it. And it obviously wasn't Phil's hat, that was decidedly a standard-girl's shade of pinky-purple. Oliver could stay quiet and let Opal get her hat back on her own, but the odds were very good that she'd get in trouble for that. There _was_ one option that popped up in his mind in an appealing way...

He raised his hand when Mrs. Nolan started passing out the test they were taking this morning to two kids that distributed the sheets.

Their teacher looked confused by why someone would be asking questions early in the morning, especially Oliver. "Yes Oliver?"

"Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Phil," Oliver leaned forwards, craning his neck to feign curiosity. "Why didn't you give back Opal's hat if you found it?"

Mrs. Nolan looked to a reddening Phil, and out the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Opal giving him a look. He couldn't tell if it was an "I'm impressed" look or one that said, "What the hell?" It could go either way, depending on the outcome.

"Phil," Mrs. Nolan said, using a motherly tone of voice in the sense that she was not amused. "Did you take Opal's hat?"

Oliver tried very hard to keep the grin off his face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who thought the last few chapters were happy: Sorry.

Leo had woken up that morning, fussy and feverish. Snow had sent Neal and Ruth off to school ahead of her with Ashley's kids, and Ruby collected Todd. Snow wasn't too concerned about Ruby's son getting sick because Leo was prone to getting ear infections and this showed all the signs of it being just that. She had to give some of those options the pediatrician suggested another look.

David had come back from the station to take care of their three-year-old while Snow dashed off to the school, scurrying in just under the wire. At least she wasn't tardy for her own class, that would have been embarrassing, wouldn't it?

She handed the tests her kids were taking today over to two young helpers, and that was when Oliver Gold raised his hand. It was his first day back since...since last Friday, and since he wasn't known for asking questions in class, Snow couldn't help but wonder what he wanted.

Oliver wasn't a bad kid, but sometimes he pushed the limits a little too far. He was the sort that would finish a fight, but he wasn't above starting a fight either. Neal insisted Oliver hit him first last Friday, and the greenish-yellow bruise lingering on the smaller boy's face was proof that he was scrappier than he looked at the very least. However, the way Opal was frowning and Phil turned bright red, Snow suspected he wasn't causing trouble.

Actually, it looked like Phil Briars had caused it this time, and that wasn't too surprising really, especially if he'd stolen a little girl's hat. Aurora and Phillip's son was prone to getting Neal in all sorts of trouble, and he was also infamous for teasing girls for attention. It was one thing to take a shine to a girl, but stealing her stuff was another.

She had Phil return the hat and offer an apology, which Opal sullenly did _not_ accept it, but she didn't sneer or scowl or make it a point to make Phil suffer, so Snow considered it as accepted as it could be. The class proceeded to quietly take their tests and when they were finished Snow got out the craft supplies. She had a wonderful idea for making paper lanterns they could hang in the classroom as Valentines Day decorations and got them to work on that immediately.

The students had their choice of red, pink, or white construction paper and some paper doilies, sparkles, sequins, glitter-glue, and marks to decorate with. Some were more excited than others, (Garrick Booth seemed especially determined to stick as many decorations on his lantern as he possibly could, and may gave gotten glitter-glue in his hair,) as Snow was expecting. Some of the kids at this age felt too grownup to do arts-and-crafts.

Oliver was usually one of those kids, but he'd turned in a beautiful little birdhouse. The bright flowers around the bottom gave it a sort of cottage feel, and though they were splotchy, Snow thought the marigolds were a cute touch.

By the time the fourth graders left her classroom, Snow felt the day was going much better than it had looked at the start...

And then came lunch.

Recess came right after lunch period, and Snow liked to eat her lunch at a table that overlooked the playground. It was cold and a little damp from the snow, but most of the children found a way to amuse themselves. She saw Robbi Mills leaving the short-walled snow fort some of the girls had made, wandering over to another bench where Oliver and his two friends had set themselves up. They weren't running around, they were sitting, and Snow couldn't hear them but it looked like Oliver was reading aloud from a book.

That was fine, they weren't hurting anyone...

* * *

In a single recess, Oliver could sometimes get through three chapters in a Percy Jackson book. Four, maybe, if there weren't any interruptions. Today the interruption was Robbi Mills.

"Hi Oliver," she said, rocking back and forth on her heels. "How's your dad?"

"Okay." Oliver replied, half-hoping she'd skip back to wherever she came from and not ask more questions. No such luck.

"My aunt said he was sick, but she didn't say what was wrong. He was in the hospital for a long time, I just wanted to know if it was serious."

"He's fine." He didn't want to be rude, really, because Robbi wasn't being rude at all. But if one more person asked him _"how's your dad?"_   or _"are you okay?"_   then Oliver would scream. Because maybe Papa was out the hospital, and maybe he was gonna be okay, but he was still awfully quiet and still. Papa was rarely ever still, and he looked really tired sometimes.

It was just something he didn't want to think about in this sucktastic schoolyard surrounded by kids who were happy to pick on him to feel better about themselves.

"Okay...so..." Robbi fidgeted with the fuzzy trim on her coat sleeve. It matched the fur lining the hood pulled over her head. "Whatcha readin'?"

"We were reading Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Titan's Curse," Opal said, giving Robbi that narrow-eyed 'leave now' look she was really good at. The way she stressed _'were'_   was very indicative that they'd like to get back to it instead of talking to certain people that rhymed with "knobby", but-

"The title's kinda misleading," Garrick chirped. "The Olympians kinda come and go, I don't know why they're mentioned in the title at all."

"Because if they weren't they'd nuke Percy Jackson with lightning bolts," Opal answered, rather accurately in Oliver's opinion. "Did you ever see the Disney Hercules movie when Phil's about to say he won't train Hercules?"

"Ohhhh...yeah, that makes a lot of sense."

Robbi pressed her lips together and bounced up on her toes nervously. "Can I listen?" she asked. She said it so quickly, in one breath, that it sounded more like, _"CanIlisten?"_

Oliver glanced down at the book. They were only about three chapters in, just starting on the fourth. "Okay, but were not starting over."

"Alright, I'll pick it up as we go," Robbi beamed, sitting on the bench on the other side of Garrick. "Is there anything I need to know?"

Well it was a good thing she asked now rather than waiting until they were reading the book. Opal leaned forwards so she could look around Oliver, holding up four gloved fingers.

"There's a prophecy that doesn't happen until Percy's sixteenth birthday because he's the son of Poseidon, Annabeth is his best human friend slash obvious crush that's been taken by the bad guys-"

"He's not in love with her, they're just friends," Garrick argued. "If he loved her he'd be happy to dance with her instead of being all sticky and sweaty."

"Hush eight, a ten is talking," Opal shushed, and Oliver didn't know why that made Robbi giggle. "Grover is a satyr, not a demigod, which is what Percy Jackson and the other kids at the camp are, half-human, half-god. And Thalia-she's new, I don't know much about her yet except she's awesome,-is the daughter of Zeus that spent years as a pine tree but she's human again and subject to the same prophecy as Percy."

"Why?" Robbi asked.

"Because Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades are brothers, they're the sons of Kronos, who was the king of the Titans," Oliver liked all the twists and turns in Greek mythology, this was a questions he could answer best. "But Zeus overthrew him and became the new king, but the Olympians were different so he divided the world between his brothers. They're the strongest of all the gods, the Big Three. So their demigod kids, the kids they have with mortal women, are the strongest, too. According to Percy Jackson, their kids caused World War II, and there was a prophecy made around the same time that one of the Big Three's children would play a part in the end of the world. Whether they save it, or destroy it. They decided the risks were too great, so all three swore to stop having children with mortal women."

Robbi pursed her lips. "But...you just said two of the kids are demigod kids of theirs."

"Yeah, well, Zeus isn't so surprising," Oliver shrugged. "Zeus has like a million kids in Greek myths. He fell off the bandwagon first and had Thalia with some movie star lady years before the story starts. Thalia ran away, and she was friends with this kid named Luke-"

"He's a jerk," Opal added. "He has a daddy-doesn't-love-me complex and works for the bad guys to bring Kronos back to life. She, little Annabeth, and Grover tried to make it to their magic camp but Thalia stayed behind to fight the monsters, and she was turned into a tree before she died."

"Exactly. She's about to turn sixteen, but before she came back, Percy, as the son of Poseidon, was supposed to be the kid in the prophecy. His mom's a really nice lady named Sally with these rainbow eyes."

"She drove Percy and his friends to the place they just escaped from," Garrick nodded. "She wasn't in trouble though, she's okay."

"Right," Robbi nodded thoughtfully. "So does Hades have any secret kids lying around?"

Opal shook her head. "Nope. Hades is the god of the underworld, he's really-You know what, actually he's sorta like the stories you hear about Mr. Gold in the old world. Kinda creepy, kinda scary, but if you don't screw with him he'll leave you be. I don't see anybody wanting to have kids with him, can you?"

Oliver was on the next book already. He kept his mouth shut.

"But Mr. Gold's Oliver's dad, he and Miss Belle had a baby or else he wouldn't be here," Robbi said, then looked guiltily at Oliver. "Er. Sorry?"

"That's not what Killian says."

 _'God freakin' dammit,'_ Oliver sighed inwardly, looking up to see Neal and his two other losers standing in front of them. He was wearing that dumb skull and crossbones coat that he probably thought made him look cooler, but with his smirk and his short, ruffled blonde hair, it made him look like a jackass _trying_ to be cool.

"Yeah, well, everybody has their own opinion," Opal shrugged beside him. "Like, for instance..." she tugged her hat off and waved it like a flag. "You must've thought this was a really nice hat if it was worth stealing, Phil. How'd that work out for ya?"

Phil turned pink, shuffling where he stood. "I was gonna give it back, you don't have to be like that."

"Like what? Mad because you ripped my hat off my head? Gee."

Neal stepped forward, his hands on his hips as he leaned forwards.

"I heard that you were a mistake," he sneered at Oliver. "That your dad knocked up your mom on purpose to keep her stuck in town with him."

"That's not true," Garrick frowned. "Nobody can leave town, not without turning into a tree."

"Didn't stop _your_ dad from leaving, did it?"

"Didn't stop _your_ parents from doing nothing about it, either," Oliver replied calmly looking down at his book so he could avoid everyone's eyes on him. "Dopey was a tree for how long, exactly, before...oh yes, _my_ papa fixed it."

He glanced up then, smiling at the twitch in Neal's clenched jaw. The flicker of triump sputtered when Neal snorted, crossing his arms.

"Oh yeah? Well that doesn't change the fact that you're a mistake. How do you know your dad's even your dad?" he snickered a little at that. "Your mom goes out with other guys, doesn't she? Maybe you're just a runty little bastard and she keeps Gold in line by saying your his, so he won't kill her."

Oliver scowled. "Papa would never hurt Mama. And my parents were married-"

Tommy Herman snickered. "Come to think of it, he looks awful pretty to be Gold's kid. Doesn't he?"

"Leave him alone, Tommy," Robbi stood up, frowning. "And don't talk about Miss Belle like that, Neal, she's nice. What's she ever done to you guys? It's not her fault if she had a baby by accident."

Oliver felt something boiling up in his stomach, almost like he was going to throw up. The scary thing was, though, that he was pretty sure the only thing that was going to come out of his mouth was something angry and loud and likely to get him in a lot of trouble no matter who he screamed at. He tried to swallow that feeling down and his face felt hot, and Tommy seized it immediately.

"Aww, what's the matter Oliver? Are you embarrassed?" he sneered. "Scared that it's true? Scared your daddy's not your daddy?"

"Of course Mr. Gold is his father," Phil spoke up, waving around his face. "Look at him. He's an ugly little imp just like Gold."

Opal moved like she was going to stand up, but Oliver grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back down. The very last thing he needed today was a schoolyard fight, no matter how deserving these jackasses were of a punch to the face. On the other side of him, Garrick looked more hurt than angry, looking from the boys to Robbi to Oliver before he finally said:

"What's the matter with you people?" he cried. "Mr. Gold almost died and you're gonna stand here and make fun of him in front of Oliver? If it was any of your dads that spent a week in the hospital would you want someone to do that to you?"

"What do you know about fathers, Green Blunder?" Tommy snorted. "You don't even have one! All you've got is a trashy fairy for a mother."

"You wanna talk shit about fairies and moms?" Opal snapped. "What was your mother doing before her fairy godmother wiped the ashes off her feet and stuck them in glass slippers?"

"Your opinion doesn't count because your mom's a reject fairy-"

"And your mom is a gold-digging baby factory, what the hell's your point?"

Oliver looked around the playground. Other kids were staring at them, but didn't come forwards. Whether it was because they didn't want to cross the popular kids, or because they didn't have a dog in the fight, he couldn't tell, but it ticked him off. The only adult Oliver could see was on the otherside of the playground. Mrs. Nolan, of course, who wasn't paying them the slightest bit of attention as she read whatever was on the papers in front of her. Typical.

"Stop picking on them, quit it!" Robbi snapped. "It's isn't they're fault they aren't normal kids!"

Oliver could feel Garrick go stiff beside him, but he stayed put on the bench. So did Opal.

One of the very few reasons Oliver personally allowed Robbi to keep coming around them, even when she was being rude, even when she ticked off Opal with a bad comment, was because she and Garrick were friends. Neither of them had a dad, they both liked green, and Garrick was patient enough that none of Robbi's fumblings bothered him. But that statement really spoke volumes about what she must think about them. Did she only hang around them because she thought they were easy to practice her social skills on?

Across the playground, Robbi's voice must've carried enough to reach Mrs. Nolan, because _now_ she looked up. Oliver could just make out her frowning, sizing up the situation.

She looked back down and shifted her work around, but before she could even stand up, the bell cut through the air and announced recess was over.

A lot more was over, it felt like.

Tommy snorted and walked away, Phil following after him. Neal stood a moment, staring at them. Then he huffed, an arrogant little quirk at the corners of his mouth.

"You're right Robbi, they aren't normal."

Robbi opened her mouth, but Opal snapped, "Don't you dare say another word Robbi Mills. Don't you dare!"

Confusion and hurt crossed Robbi's face, but Oliver was not willing to be kind. He'd thought, lately, that Robbi could be a friend to them. But she was too...she was too much like Ruth Nolan and her cheerful thoughtlessness. Too likely to hurt you and not notice it, or even care. She put bandages on bullet holes and expected you to shrug off the pains because she didn't understand, didn't _try_ to understand.

"But-"

"Go away, Robbi," Garrick muttered, shrinking closer to Oliver. "Leave us alone."

Robbi had the nerve to look affronted that Garrick would say such a thing, but then Neal put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her away.

"But-"

"Come on," he nodded towards where Ruth was waiting with a concerned sort of look on her face. "It's not worth it, you can walk to class with us. It's okay, Robbi..."

"No it's not." Oliver scowled. But no one was listening.

* * *

Archie had brought Figaro to his office today. He was just over a year old, but Rumpelstiltskin could tell by it's black-and-white coloring and the length of it's fur that the mutt was part collie, and would always be just a little more hyper than Pongo had been. Collies had the canine equivalent of ADHD.

Figaro had hopped up on the couch and draped himself over Rumpelstiltskin's lap when he sat down, chewing animatedly on a nylon bone. There would be fur all over his suit, to be sure, but dogs were more tolerable than people.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't specifically said who his mother was, just that she had abandoned him as an infant, to the dubious care of his father that had been too much of a child in his own way to care for one. Then there was his life before Milah, married to Milah before and after his self-mutilated ankle, after Milah and before the Dark One's curse, before he lost Bae, after Bae, Cora and after her, throwing Belle out, the curse, finding Bae, losing him the time while Lacey was there, Neverland, dying, resurrection and merging Bae with him, Zelena, finally losing Bae to death, more horrors with Zelena, lying about the dagger, being banished, his stint in New York, coming back and the Author's dumbass decisions, not being the Dark One, Belle leaving again, taking back the curse, the Underworld, Belle's pregnancy, Hyde and the Evil Queen, a few years of on-and-off reconcilations with Belle before he sought therapy three years ago, then the Black Cauldron-

His life was a trainwreck that never stopped, and unsurprisingly, Hopper was touching back on the subject of his immense self-loathing during his second post-suicidal session on Monday afternoon.

Currently, they were on the self-loathing bits that involved his innate feeling of worthlessness. Trying to get a grip on that anxiety that had been running unchecked for months.

"You said you had Oliver overnight, yes? How did you manage that?"

"It wasn't very difficult..." Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. It wasn't, really. It might be harder if he had what one might term "main custody" of his son, but overnight trips and lunch visits he was familiar managing. "Henry and Violet stayed over for dinner before they went out. I cleaned up, and we spent a bit of time in the living room. I've been teaching Oliver to knit. He's a quick study."

"Oh? Good, good, he was asking about that when I saw him."

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure how to feel about Oliver seeing Dr. Hopper, really. On the one hand it made him feel like he'd failed, again, at protecting his children. On the other, if the cricket could be of service, then so be it. Oliver's all-over health was more important than his father's ego. He would have his turns with Hopper on Wednesdays until further notice.

"He's making a scarf at the moment. I believe he called it a 'big ugly Fourth Doctor' style of scarf, perhaps."

"That sounds interesting, I'd like to see that." Rumpelstiltskin wondered if Hopper knew what sort of doctor Oliver was talking about. "And how did you sleep?"

"Adequately..." he hadn't had any of the nightmares, yet, but he hadn't been been able to manage a full eight hours, coming in at perhaps six hours. He'd been worse. "It's been restful, at least. I've been trying not to nap during the day but I nodded off on the sofa this morning for half an hour after I cleaned up the breakfast dishes."

Hopper nodded, taking a note. "Good. Now, how did you feel when Oliver stayed over?"

Hmm...

"I felt...happy to see him, of course," Rumpelstiltskin started, scratching under Figaro's collar. "And...and I thought he was happy to see me, too. Mostly I was just sort of...glad, really. Glad I was there..." and the cricket was going to want to hear about this and ask _'how does that make you feel?'_   too... "I was a little...off, though. Too. Belle dropped Oliver off, y'see..."

He'd often wondered if Hopper played poker. If not, then he should. He had a marvelous poker face.

"I see. And how did that go?"

Well...between something like unbearable tension and complete bewilderment...

"It was...a bit awkward." Yes. That's what it was. Awkward as all hell. Yes. "Rather awkward. We didn't talk long...we discussed my health and then she left."

"And?"

"And that was about it. She had a dinner to attend and Henry burned his hand inside the house, so we didn't really... _do_ much."

Hopper nodded slowly, looking very thoughtful. "So, was that the first time you've spoken since the hospital?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. He hadn't thought much about it, considering the circumstances, but so it was. Belle didn't owe him support or understanding at this juncture. Maybe she'd been on to something three years ago when she wanted to keep him at a distance. It was cleaner that way. Safer.

Hopper glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Hm. Maybe we'll discuss that more next time,-" what the hell did he mean by that? "-but I think we're done for the day. Do you have any plans for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I was going to go home. Henry has some errands he has to run, I was going to ride along. I, er, I don't think I'm up to driving yet."

Logically, Rumpelstiltskin knew he had to rejoin society. But riding in a car was more than he'd done in the past month, so perhaps it was a step forwards. Hopper didn't disagree, nodding like it wasn't such a bad idea after all. All that was left after that was to get Figaro off his lap, which was easier said than done. Apparently he was a perfect pillow the dog was loathed to surrender.

When Figaro stopped resisting, he bounded off Rumpelstiltskin's lap with perked-up ears, dancing in front of the door. Hopper opened the door and the dog bolted out straight at Robbi Mills.

"Rwoowoof!"

Robbi squeaked, dropping to her knees to let Figaro attack her with wet licks. "Hi Figaro, hi! I love you too!"

"Bwoof!"

Regina looked up from her niece and met eyes with Gold. Oh, right. Robbi had therapy on Mondays after school. Well, there were worse people to run into at the cricket's office. At least Regina and he hadn't any bones to picks or axes to grind or any other such violent ways of saying, _"I have a problem with you!"_  Something else to be grateful for, he supposed.

"Figaro, come here," Hopper chided, (as much as the cricket could chide,) "Stop that! Let Robbi up."

Figaro refused until Hopper took a Nilla Wafer out his pocket and clicked his tongue. Never let it be said that Figaro wasn't an intelligent beastie. Regina helped Robbi up and then ushered her towards the door with a murmur of encouragement, and once Hopper shut the door, it was just them alone in the waiting room. The ex-Dark One and the reformed Evil Queen.

She looked him over and nodded.

"You look pretty good, Gold," she said, folding her arms in that thoughtful way of hers. "Less like you're about to have a panic attack."

From Regina that was high praise indeed. And yet, there was always something about her bluntness that was refreshing. If she hovered and fretted over him like an invalid, he'd wonder what the hell was wrong with her. This was an unexpected taste of normality, really.

"Thank you. Henry said you warded my hospital room, thank you for that as well."

Regina squirmed the slightest bit. "Just...get back on your feet, okay? There aren't enough reformed villains left in town, we need you around."

"Oh?" he smirked.

"Oh don't look too much into it!" she snapped. Ah yes. That was very normal. "Some people do like you, Gold, we want you around."

Rumpelstiltskin nearly laughed at Regina's bristling. If she were a cat, her fur would probably be standing on end. Maybe there would be some hissing as well. He could see the moment she realized he was needling her, her shoulders relaxing and her eyes softening the slightest bit. She scowled at him without much heart, and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't resist bumping shoulders as he passed.

"Thanks all the same, Your Majesty."

"Oh shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes: I diverged from canon before the Evil Queen wanted to play tonsil hockey with Rumple. They have their student/mentor + frenemies relationship and nothing more.
> 
> Also! Nobody's really told the kids about the Underworld because it's essentially a big fat can of touchy worms they don't want opened, (would you? I mean it was a clusterfork from start to finish,) and they don't really know Hades was involved either. The most they know is that Robin died coming back from the Underworld, which isn't the truth and will come back around like nasty secrets tend to do. _*dun-dun-dun...*_


	18. Chapter 18

Robbi had done something wrong, she just wasn't sure what.

Neal and Ruth had walked with her to their next class after recess, and Ruth had tried to make her feel better and Neal said it wasn't her fault...but the way her stomach was fluttering and the way Oliver and Opal and Garrick had looked at her made her think she'd done _something_ wrong. She just didn't know what, and it bothered her. She had thought that she'd been defending them, but maybe they hadn't understood that. It might've come across as fake since she was friends with Neal and his sister...

It was a good thing today was a therapy day. Robbi thought Archie was the perfect person to ask what went wrong.

As always it started off with how she was feeling, and how she was doing at school. Sometimes Robbi asked if Archie thought Mum would stay under the hospital for much longer, but she didn't today. Also, Archie must've seen her squirming in her seat once Figaro got bored with her and curled up for a nap in his doggy bed, because he asked if she wanted to talk about something.

"Have you ever known you did something wrong, but you don't know what it is, but you know you did it because you hurt somebody?"

"Uh...well..." Archie adjusted his glasses. "Could you give me an example of how that works?"

Robbi squirmed, bringing her legs up under her on the sofa. "How much does that doctor-patient confidentiality cover?"

"Unless it's a danger to yourself, or if you murdered somebody, then you're covered. Is it something that happened at school?"

"Sorta...um," this was harder than she thought. "You know how I'm friends with Garrick? Well, he and Oliver Gold and Opal were sitting on the playground reading a book, and so I went over to join them. But then Neal and some of his friends showed up, and they started picking on Oliver...they were saying some really mean things about their parents and I tried to speak up about it but...b-but I think I made things worse, and I don't know if I stopped them or if they only stopped because the bell rang, but Neal said I didn't do anything wrong, but Garrick is really upset and he's never been upset with me before so I think I did do something wrong but I don't know what and he's my friend so I wanna make it right if I did-"

"Robbi, Robbi, whoa, hold on," Archie held up his hands, getting up from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa. "Okay, do you remember that house exercise we practiced? Can you do that for me?"

Robbi looked down at the sofa cushion between them. The house exercise was tracing a little square, with a little roof on top, the way she used to draw houses in kindergarten. She did it once. And then twice. Archie told her to do it again, a little bigger this time, so she did. It was a distraction, she knew that, but she felt less jittery now that everything was out there.

"Alright, so," Archie said after making her to the house thing one more time. "Just to get this straight; Neal and his friends were picking on Oliver, _and_ his friends. And you defended them, but something went wrong. What was it that you said right before things went wrong?"

Um...oh. _Oh._

"Tommy Herman was saying some really bad things about Opal and Garrick's moms, y'know, because they aren't fairies in the convent? And I told him to stop 'cause it's not their fault they aren't like normal kids...that was what was wrong, wasn't it?"

Archie hummed thoughtfully. "Was that when they got upset?"

 _Exactly_ that moment. Uh-oh.

"Yeah...I did that thing where I didn't think again, didn't I?" she winced. That was really a chronic understatement since nobody in Storybrooke was "normal" if you looked close enough. And that was a really mean sort of thing to say, anyway. Especially about three kids who got picked on all the time to start with.

Archie smiled in that nice way of his. "But you noticed you made a mistake. And the first part of correcting any mistake is admitting you were wrong, then, you can start taking steps to fix it."

"Like...what?"

"An apology might not go amiss, especially if you're sincere about it. And I think you are. Can I ask you something though? You're friends with Neal, and Oliver?"

"Well..." Robbi hesitated. "I think I'm friends with Oliver. I'm friends with Garrick, at least, and Oliver and Opal don't mind me playing or sitting with them. Usually. And I'm friends with the Nolan kids, yes."

"Well, why are you friends with Neal when he picks on your other friends?" Archie asked. "I'm not saying you _shouldn't_ be friends with him of course, I just mean it's a bit...odd."

Robbi thought about that for a minute. It wasn't really that odd, she didn't think. She'd known Neal her whole life, they'd played together forever and came together every holiday because Aunt Regina was part of the Charming Family, which meant Mum and she were too. And Miss Belle usually brought Oliver around during holidays and celebrations, but he didn't get along with Neal so well. Robbi hadn't really started playing with just Oliver until they'd started school when Neal and Ruth played with other kids and she felt too shy to join them. But she was better friends with Garrick. (She ought to apologize to him first.)

Still, Robbi didn't think it was _odd_ , exactly. She just had different kinds of friends. Grownups had those, right? Aunt Regina had hero friends like the Charmings, and cool friends like Mal, and sort-of friends like Mr. Gold. It wasn't odd.

Was it?

Archie didn't wait for her to answer, but then, he might've forgotten about it because Figaro hopped up and trotted over to rest his head on his knee. Robbi hadn't gotten out as much back then, but she remembered he used to have a big spotty dog named Pongo. Archie must've been a dog person. Robbi used to like pretending what it would be like to have a pet. Once she'd even kept a mouse she'd named Brownie in a shoebox in her room, but he got out one day and caught in a slap-trap. Mum offered to get her a dog after that, or a cat, but Robbi was afraid she couldn't take care of those either if she couldn't handle a sweet little mouse.

"What was wrong with Mr. Gold?" Robbi asked.

"Hmm?" Archie's eyebrows furrowed together. "What's wrong with him?"

"Yeah. Aunt Regina said that he was sick, that's why he was in the hospital last week. Was it like the chicken pox or something?" She wasn't much for doctoring, but Robbi thought she'd heard someone say chicken pox was dangerous for grownups. Maybe dangerous enough to have a stay in the hospital?

"It's...it's a bit more complicated chicken pox," Archie hedged.

"Measles?"

Archie laughed. "No, it wasn't anything like that. It's a...it's a sort of sickness on the inside, really. He's getting better though, but it's going to take some time. It's nice of you to try and stand up for Oliver, but it might be better for you to find a teacher next time and call them over."

Hmm...Robbi thought back to recess. The only teacher she remembered on the playground at the time was Mrs. Nolan. Not only was she a teacher, but she was Neal's mom. She would have been the perfect person to handle him, like, the ultimate authority.

* * *

Dinner at the Lucas-Gale house had been a pleasant evening of much needed brevity and liquor, but looking back, she noticed that they'd avoided the pink elephant named Rumpelstiltskin. Nothing else was off-limits, especially after Ruby's third glass of red wine. Thank god Granny had gone home at about eight-thirty, because Belle couldn't remember much about what happened after nine-thirty, and she had been told she was a very talkative drunk. Anything that popped into her head fell out her mouth, too.

Good lord. If she was going to keep socializing, she'd have to practice more responsible drinking. Because not only was there a possibility of great embarrassment, Belle had rolled out of bed feeling like her brain had been trampled.

The library opened a half hour late, but nobody either said anything or noticed. After lunch, Belle did feel markedly better. Ruby had slipped across the street and sheepishly left her an iced tea and sandwich at half price, like she could see the lingering traces of a hangover she'd helped cause with her damned red wine.

(Belle paid the full price anyway, Ruby could keep the rest as a tip if she'd like, she hadn't exactly poured that disastrous third glass down her throat after all.)

In fact, Belle had a rather nice day...

However, it was patently obvious someone else had not.

Oliver trudged into the library with Astrid and Opal. He was staring at the ground, his fists jammed in his pockets, curled in on himself. He didn't stop at Belle's desk, he made a beeline for the stairs with a muttered goodbye. Opal shifted on her feet, not looking any better, and Astrid shooed her towards the door, reminding her they had that hair appointment.

Then, Astrid turned back around and leaned over the desk.

"I don't know what happened, but all three of them are upset about something," she whispered in a low, stern voice. "They wouldn't say what, Garrick went home with Tink, but I think you need to talk to Oliver."

Belle nodded, and then Astrid darted off to catch up to her daughter, leaving Belle alone in the library again.

Really, there was a lot that could be upsetting Oliver, she supposed. Unfortunately, and it was upsetting to realize, Belle wasn't sure if it was one thing or a combination of them. Well, there was only one real way to find out...

She shut up the library early, and made her way upstairs to the apartment. Oliver's door was shut, but that was where he was, so Belle knocked on the door.

No answer.

Belle cracked the door open and peered inside. Oliver was sitting on his bed, with his back to the wall and his legs stretched in front of him. It looked like he'd tossed his pillow across the room, followed by his shoes, but Belle didn't think to scold him for throwing things. His mouth was set in a thin line, and everything about him looked angry and miserable. He looked a bit like Rumple had when he was sulking, and a bit, Belle supposed, like she did when she was brooding herself.

Sometimes she wondered if it would be easier parenting a child that didn't look so much like both his parents, a constant reminder that he came from two, stubborn people...

Bubs, a rag doll with an yellow face and a little tunic made from paisley fabric, and a small cloak with a real hood, had tumbled off the bed and was lying by her feet. Belle picked him up, straighting the half dozen strands of tan yarn sewn to the top of his head as she sat down with the doll on her lap. Bubs had been made when Oliver was three, a trusty companion with brown button eyes to keep watch over him.

He'd gone through a few costume changes necessitated by stains and wear, to say nothing of occupational changes. Wizard, knight, damsel-in-distress, ( _Lady Bubsy of the Tree House Kingdom_ , to be exact,) back to wizard. This was his adventurer costume that had always been Oliver's favorite, the one he'd traversed the wilds of the bark and Rumple's backyard wearing searching for dragons.

Tugging Bubs' hood over his head, Belle sat him on Oliver's lap. Her son took his doll without a word, straightening his tunic and adjusting the hood.

"What happened at school today?"

"Mrs. Nolan thought the flames on my birdhouse were flowers."

(She _knew_ it.) "Oh? Anything else?"

"No."

Belle inhaled, then exhaled, wasting time before she squeezed his knee. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

Mmhmm...that wasn't reassuring. Belle thought for a moment and an idea came upon her. "Alright, you don't have to tell me...just say yes or no, while I try and guess. How about that?"

Oliver squeezed Bubs' hand.

"Alright. So. Is this about your father?"

A brief pause. "No..."

"Is it about me? Something I did?"

"No..."

Belle wasn't sure what to make about those pauses, but let them slide for now. "Okay. Did someone start a fight with you?"

"No." That sounded more like an answer, so that ruled out a fight...or at least a direct fight...

"Did someone pick on your friends today?"

"...sorta..."

Aha.

"Was it Neal Nolan? Or one of his friends?"

Oliver squirmed. "Yeah..."

Belle nodded absently. Neal had been a pushy, bossy tot which was why Belle had to start refusing to watch him for the Charmings. She'd thought that the Charmings wouldn't tolerate raising a bully, but maybe they hadn't noticed, or maybe Neal acted differently around them. She knew his friends weren't of sterling character either...

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

"Not really."

"Okay...but, I want to help you. You can always talk to Archie, of course, but I'm your mother and I want to help you, if I can. Yeah?"

Oliver squirmed a little more, clutching Bubs tighter. He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes critically, studying her, and Belle had the strangest sense that he was weighing words carefully before he made his decision.

"Are you and Papa married?"

Well, that was a rapid change in direction.

"No. Yes. Well," Belle hesitated, taking a moment to sort it out in her head. "We are legally married, but we aren't really...together. Separated. Estranged."

"Why aren't you divorced?"

That was simple enough: "We never got around to it, really. I...I used to think we'd work things out. But it never happened. I'm not sure-"

"But you were married when you had me, right?"

"Of course," Belle replied automatically, then thought about this vein of questioning. "Why?"

Oliver swallowed back what appeared to be his initial response. He'd changed from brewing anger to suspicion to something a lot like terror alarmingly fast, and Belle suddenly got an awful idea about what the playground bullies had chosen to target today.

"Oliver Gold what did those awful children say?" She hadn't meant to sound so angry, but she just hoped Oliver understood her anger was not with him at all.

"They said that I was a bastard," he blurted out, more words spilling behind those that made things even worse than if he'd left it at that. "They said that you didn't mean to have me or that Papa _made_ you have me or that Papa i-isn't my-That Papa isn't really-"

Belle had never considered herself the sort to hit a child, but she had the very strong impulse to give Neal Nolan and his contingency of brats a good hard whacking. She gathered up her own child in her arms, turning him to meet her eyes. A lock of his hair had flopped into Oliver's wide blue eyes, and she brushed it aside with softness that eased some of the hurt in her chest.

Had they meant to have a child at that particular time? No. Honestly, Belle probably shouldn't have slept with Rumple at all that day, but it had been so _long_ , and she was so tired of pushing him away when she didn't want to, and he'd clung to her like it was the last time he'd ever see her and she had hardly been any better. Before she fell asleep, she clearly remembered Rumple curling around her as close as he could, spooned up behind her with his face pressed against her neck, pressing kisses to her skin. A bitter taint returned to the memories because now she realized, as the Dark One, he didn't need to sleep and had probably been compensating for his own guilt, but it wasn't bitter enough to erase the sweetness.

But Rumple had not, and could not, Belle truly believed, force himself on her like that. If anything, _she'd_ dragged him back to the big pink house. She did recall ripping the buttons off his shirt in her rush, something they'd paused to giggle about, but that was a memory she'd rather not dwell on in front of her son.

More importantly, she needed to tell her son the truth now that there was doubt in his mind.

"Oliver, listen to me, baby. The truth is that we hadn't planned on having a child." There was a look in her son's eyes she hated but faded as she pressed on to explain. "But that didn't mean you were unwanted, not even for a moment. Your father and I were so happy when we found out-" and that _was_ the truth, "-even if we weren't getting along very well at the time. You were something we both wanted _so_ much. You weren't even born yet and we loved you more than anything in the world."

"I...s-so, I'm not a mistake...?"

"Never a mistake. You were unexpected, a surprise, even a bit of a shock if we're really being honest, but never a mistake. I promise you that."

"Did..." Oliver hesitated again. "Papa's still mine?"

At that, Belle had to laugh a little, kissing his forehead. "Absolutely. You are the best thing we ever did together."

"Eww."

Belle laughed again, drawing him into a hug. He was going to be bigger than her soon, but for today, he was still her little boy to cuddle. That didn't mean, however, that a cuddle would fix this situation completely.

"Now," she kissed his head again. "What happened to Opal and Garrick? Are they upset on your behalf or did they get caught in the crossfire?"

Oliver huffed, nuzzling against her shoulder. "Garrick tried calling them out for targeting Papa, they said he couldn't because he doesn't have one. And that his mom was trash..."

(Hmm, Tink was going to destroy those children before Belle even voiced her own outrage.)

"...and Opal said that if Tommy was going to talk-Uh, talk _bad_ about fairies, then he couldn't talk either since his mom had a fairy godmother make all her dreams come true. Then he tried to say Opal couldn't talk about fairies because her mother was a 'reject fairy', but she called his mother...ummmm..."

Belle went through a few possiblities in her head. Opal had good manners in the proper situation, but a shorter fuse than her son and a vocabulary rather augmented by association with the very blue-collar dwarves. "She's not in trouble," she reminded, half-curious to hear what happened. "What did she call her?"

Oliver licked his lips. "A gold-digging baby factor."

Oh.

Well...

"As a mother I have to tell you it's very rude to insult women, even if you are another woman, as her choices are her own. It isn't your place to judge them. Do you understand that?"

"Yes...but?"

"But I as a person don't _disagree,_ exactly. Is that what has you all so upset?" Belle knew that there was a bit of an obstacle in the fact that Snow was Neal's mother and teacher, but, given that there were witnesses and that Neal had help, it might be easier to drag this into the light.

Normally Belle was very much a believer that you should take the high road and forgive people that had wronged you, but this was something beyond just simple bullying. This was the sort of thing that didn't get better or go away on its own, this was the sort of thing that got worse. Bullying was for minors, but if this had happened in a group of adults? It would be misogyny, discrimination, possibly even racism where the fairies and dwarves were concerned-

"Robbi Mills called us freaks."

Oliver was so quiet Belle almost didn't catch that. "She what? I thought you were friends with her?"

"Garrick's her friend. Was her friend. Opal and I don't mind her, usually. She just...she said we weren't normal, and I don't know if she's just stupid or if she really means it, you know? I thought we were okay. And her mom's the bloody Wicked Witch," he scowled. "Who the hell does she think she is?"

Belle let his language slide a bit, mulling over this development. "How exactly did Robbi say that? Was it like, 'you aren't normal' or 'they aren't normal'?"

"What's the difference?" Oliver huffed.

"Well, the difference is that Robbi isn't normal herself, you're right. But she thinks she is. Do you remember before she started living with Regina, that she didn't want to talk to anyone, and when she did, don't you remember how bad she was at it?"

Oliver was quiet for a minute. "I think...maybe she thought she was trying to help? She just sucked at it. She doesn't think about how she sounds, and then she went off with Neal like we were in the wrong."

Belle nodded. "Now, I'm not saying you should apologize to her, but if she realizes she suffered from some..."

"Communication issues?"

"Yes, that. Maybe go a little easier on her. Robbi's had a...a sort of tough upbringing, her mum should never have been left to her own devices with her. She'll get better, I know she will, but for now she's going to make a lot of mistakes."

Oliver went quiet again, then shifted around to look her in the eye.

"Can I still be angry?"

"For a little bit, certainly. I think that's perfectly alright."

He nodded, curling into her side again. "I'm gonna have to tell Archie about this, aren't I?"

"That's what the therapist is for, yes. Telling him your problems, so you can learn to fix them."

"Mm...Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you talk to Papa anymore?" Oliver asked. "Are you angry with him?"

"I..." Belle blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject. "Why?"

"Well, you used to say that Papa had a rough history. And that he makes a lot of mistakes. He's going to a therapist too, and he didn't cause the Black Cauldron. Do you not talk to him because you're angry about something else he did?"

Belle closed her eyes, shoving back the dark thoughts that crowded her brain whenever she thought about her estranged husband for the past few years. "Your father...Rumple made lots of mistakes when we were together, ones that I can't quite forgive-"

"Did he cheat on you?"

"What? No. No," she shook her head. That was a thought that hadn't entered Belle's mind for even a moment. "Nothing like that. It's...complicated. He put some things before our marriage, lied about things he did, didn't tell me about others...it's a bunch of little things that broke the trust we used to have. I guess...I guess the crux of the matter is...I don't think there's much left, whether I'm angry or not."

The honest answer was that, true, but not the whole one. Sometimes she thought, yes, she was still angry. Other times she was ready to forgive, sometimes she felt guilty,-actually she felt a lot of guilt lately,-then she'd feel upset that she wanted to forgive him, or reluctant, or was so tired of being alone that she pressed too hard to repair things and it ended up falling to pieces when a new lie or doubt arose. There was no fully honest answer.

There wasn't even much left that wasn't broken at this point, so maybe it was best she just focus from here on out to form a stable co-parenting relationship. Yes. Rumple, at the very least, deserved her support as the father of her child, and Oliver definitely deserved the love and support of both parents equally without feeling pressure to choose a side.

That Belle felt confident they could do.

* * *

Mom had turned an interesting shade of pink when Garrick told her about the playground today. Some people got red in the face when they were upset, Opal's ears tended to turn pink and then spread to her cheeks, but Mom's throat turned colors. It looked odd and usually distracted him when he was supposed to listen when she was telling him off. Today it was just interesting.

Garrick didn't recall his father, really, it had always been he and Mom. She was very pretty with her blonde curls and brown eyes, and she had a pretty accent sort of like Miss Belle and Mr. French's. They used to live in an apartment until they moved in with Grandpa, and he was really great too. He let Garrick help in his workshop sometimes. Garrick even had his own canvas work apron. Grandpa and Mr. Gold were both very good at fixing things. They had clever fingers, so did Oliver. Garrick's hands were kind of slow, but Grandpa assured him they were steady.

Slow and steady wins the race. And Garrick was fond of turtles and tortises, too, so that might not have been a bad thing at all.

Early on, Garrick realized most kids had two parents. A mom, and a dad. In kindergarten, he realized that Oliver was an exception, sort of. His parents didn't live together, and he mostly lived with his mom too. Opal had two married parents under the same roof, and her mom was a fairy, too. They all became real good friends by the end of kindergarten, and had remained so ever since.

So, Garrick had figured that friends were people you had something in common with. Not everything in common, just something to get you started. (Garrick was the only one of them that could do magic, though the only tricks he knew where how to make things change color it focused really, really hard, and sneezing green glitter.) So, when he noticed Robbi Mills liked the color green and had one parent, same as him, he thought she'd want to be friends even though she was a little older.

At the time, Robbi was really sort of a loner. She could play with Ruth Nolan, but Ruth was a year behind them, and she could play with Neal, but sometimes Neal was too busy playing with other boys. (Which didn't really seem...friendly.) She seemed kind of lonely, sitting by herself for lunch or standing on the fringes of the playground. Her mom didn't let kids come home to play, or vice versa, and most people weren't crazy about Zelena Mills anyway. Mom definitely hated her, she didn't mind Robbi, but she couldn't stand her mother.

Robbi wasn't much like her mom at all. At least to Garrick. Sometimes, if she wasn't sure what to do, she kind of copied whoever she was trying to get along with. Garrick wasn't particularly clever, but he tried to be nice and polite. Maybe Robbi and he always got along because he gave her a good example. They traded green apples and green grapes, checked out a birdwatching book to try and identify what birds were nesting outside the playground, and the better at talking to people Robbi got, the more often Opal and Oliver let her hang around with them. When she started living with Regina, who was a lot nicer than Zelena, Robbi had even come over to play at Garrick's house once or twice.

They were friends.

Except...maybe they weren't...

Garrick knew he wasn't normal, his dad was gone, his grandfather had carved Dad from a tree and the Blue Fairy brought him to life, Mom was a renegade fairy who wasn't even married to Dad when Garrick was born. But to have his _friend_ say he wasn't normal hurt.

He hadn't expected it to hurt so much, especially when she walked off with Neal Nolan, who had started saying the awful things that led to Tommy Herman calling Mom trash. Garrick didn't want to see anybody get punched in the face, but he almost wished Opal would've slugged them.

(She was stronger than him and Oliver, she would be the best for punching.)

Mrs. Nolan had been on the playground, but she hadn't seen anything. Of course she hadn't. Neal stayed close to Robbi the rest of the day, probably telling her more about how not-normal and awful he and his friends were for not being like them. Phil had whispered something to Opal when he was behind her in science class, (she hadn't said what,) but she'd snapped, "SHUT UP!" at him in the middle of Mr. Crane's lecture about vertebrates. It was a generally abysmal day after recess.

Mom and Grandpa had taken Garrick to Granny's Diner for a milkshake to cheer him up, but he wasn't sure how well it was working. Even his taste buds felt disappointed.

Then Robbi and her aunt arrived. Oh, it was a Monday. Robbi went to see Dr. Hopper, and then went to Granny's Diner. Oh yeah.

Robbi made her way carefully to the booth while Regina went over to the counter to sit with Henry. Mom didn't use magic, exactly, but Garrick could feel her giving Robbi the stink-eye when she stopped in front of their booth, in front of Garrick, and drew herself as tall as she could.

"May I speak to Garrick, please?" she asked, her voice wavering a little.

"What for?" Mom asked.

"I...um..." Robbi shifted on her feet, looking from Grandpa to Mom and to Garrick again. "I-I'd like to talk to him because...I would like to...Garrick can I please talk to you for a minute? A-alone?"

Garrick looked at his mom. She looked like she would say no, but Grandpa stroked his short white beard and met Garrick's eyes. He gave the slightest nod of his head, which probably meant, _'It's up to you, my boy, this is your choice.'_

"Okay...just a minute though," Garrick nodded, sliding out the booth. "Over there by the jukebox?"

Robbi nodded, so they went there. The jukebox was quiet, doing a brightly colored neon light show, and unless you were going to use the restroom or make your way down the hallway linking the diner to the bed and breakfast, then nobody was going to bother them here.

Garrick was up to fourteen _Mississippi's_ when Robbi took a deep breath and blurted out: "I'm sorry."

What?

"What?"

Robbi bounced up and down on her toes and fidgeted with the furry cuffs of her coat, but she did meet his eyes. "I knew I did something wrong but I wasn't sure what but I talked to Archie and I realized I shouldn't have said you weren't normal because that was really rude even if I was trying to help and that's why I'm apologizing."

Oh...oh.

"I just wanted Tommy to shut up, I wanted them _all_ to shut up, because they don't even know you guys, they're just being...they're so...urgh! They're just so mean to you and I don't know why because you're really nice, and Opal and Oliver are pretty great too and they didn't deserve any of that and I-I'm really sorry if I made things worse, so will you please say something because if you don't I'm gonna keep talking but maybe I should stop talking so you could answer me."

"O-oh...okay."

Robbi wriggled again, wrinkling her nose. "Okay?"

"Um...well...yeah," Garrick nodded, brushing off his greasy fingers before holding his hand out. "I accept your apology. But...but you have to apologize to Opal and Oliver too. They probably won't forgive you so easy. That was...that really hurt."

Robbi went still, staring at his hand now.

"I know...that's...I'm sorry. I...my mom kidnapped Neal when he was a baby and she used to be green and ride a broom so-I can't say what is or isn't normal, and I understand that was a terrible thing to say."

It was. But Garrick thought it was good that Robbi understood it. She had problems with what was and was not appropriate, but she was getting better. She probably wouldn't have realized she goofed a few months ago. And what's more, all her wriggling and squirming made Garrick think she meant it. He knew he got really squirmy when he had to apologize for being wrong.

"I forgive you."

"So...so we're okay?" she asked hesitantly, shaking his hand. "We're good?"

"We're good. Just, y'know, next time you defend somebody, think about what you're saying first."

"Yeah, I got that," she giggled nervously. She lunged forward and gave him a hug, and then darted back just as quickly. (Hugs were something else she was working on.) "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the "bastard" news hasn't reached Henry. Yet. Or Gold. But something'll turn up soon that results in a strong ear-ringing, but for next time: More awkward Rumbelle.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a bit of serendipity, I realized that this next chapter I had written up was mainly positive, featured some awkward Rumbelle, and some Dark Castle mentions at the very end. Ha! Happy Anniversary to Rumbelle! *does a jig*

If failures were measured on a scale of 1-10, Monday would have been a 9, because the only thing that would've made it worse was if his mother said something like, _"Don't blame Neal."_   Instead, she'd assured Oliver with a strength he sometimes forgot about that he was not a mistake, no matter what those jackasses said. That was good.

Tuesday was scoring a solid 7 on the Failure Scale, and it would have been higher if Robbi hadn't trotted up to Oliver when Mama dropped him off.

Robbi had, to her credit, apologized to each of them. Considering Opal was glaring at her until she realized she was being apologized to in the coat room, Oliver realized Robbi had more guts than he'd thought. She'd caught Garrick at the diner Monday, and honestly, Oliver was happier that she apologized to her one actual friend first than the two kids who were friends-of-a-friend.

"I'm sorry that I said what I did, I just wanted to help, but I know it wasn't the right thing to say. And I hope you can forgive me for being thoughtless."

It didn't sound like the rehearsed, fake apologies that were occasionally offered to Oliver, so he had accepted. So had Opal, though it was obvious Robbi was going to have to be careful not to relapse soon. Opal was a very honest person. You could see it in her eyes what she was feeling, if not thinking, and what she felt towards Robbi was suspicion, hesitation, a little judgment, but also a willingness to give a chance because of her sincerity. It was a good place to start over.

Unfortunately, Robbi Mills was the only person from yesterday that acted apologetic.

Mama's advice on how to handle Robbi was sound, Oliver decided. He had to admit that she wasn't _always_ wrong about how to handle people. He was in part glad and in part frustrated that she hadn't given any advice on what to do about the Three Stooges, because while Robbi knew what she said was morally reprehensible, Neal, Phil, and Tommy continued unabated.

There was really no point in telling Mrs. Nolan what happened now, twenty-four hours after the fact. So, Oliver sat down at his desk and had a note passed to him when their teacher's back was turned as she wrote on the blackboard, and read in Tommy's crappy handwriting: _"Did your daddy steal any babies while he was hospitalyzed?"_

He'd spelled hospitalized with a Y, which was so jarring that the comment's sting was lessened dramatically. Oliver supposed being a librarian was a bit hereditary because he corrected the misspelling and sent it back.

Phil tried passing a note to Opal, but she ripped it in half without looking and dropped it on the floor. Oliver really needed to tell Opal he admired that quality in her more often, what had Papa called it? Her pluck? Maybe it was an old-fashioned term, Papa used those a lot. It fit though.

Recess was much milder this time, except Phil, probably miffed that Opal hadn't paid him any attention, snatched her hat off again and took off with it. To the teachers, it must've looked like a game because Phil was laughing while Opal chased him, so they didn't stop it either. Robbi had proven her worth though; She'd gone to Mrs. Nolan and told.

(Why didn't Oliver think of that? Oh. Right. Because he had no faith in the system.)

Since Phil wasn't her precious baby boy, he didn't have immunity. Mrs. Nolan came over and Phil froze, because he knew that too, and immediately handed her Opal's hat.

"'m sorry..." he muttered.

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Mrs. Nolan said crisply. "This isn't my hat, is it? I want you to apologize to Opal and promise you will never steal her hat again, because it isn't funny. If I ever catch you doing this again, then I _will_ call your parents, and Opal's, and I don't think any explanation you could possible have for why you'd steal a girl's hat on the playground will look good in front of five adults, do you?"

Oliver, standing to the side, had to wonder if the woman delivering this telling-off was the woman everybody spoke so highly of when they sang Snow White's praises. It was a shame she didn't break through the hard-headed shell of Mrs. Nolan more often.

Phil looked down, unable to meet their teacher's eyes. "No ma'am..."

Mrs. Nolan nodded, and then gave Opal her hat. And waited.

"Well _..._?"

Phil squirmed. "I'm sorry I took your hat Opal, I won't do it again. Promise."

Oliver thought Opal might've wanted to roll her eyes, but with that pluck he admired so much, she raised her head primly and clipped out. "Good. Thank you." Then she turned on her heel and marched away with a swish of her newly-trimmed brown curls. An inch or two had been trimmed off, but yesterday she would have slapped Phil in the face with her hair. That was an image that made Oliver smile.

Opal came over to them, tugging her hat back on. She looked Robbi up and down and then grinned.

"Thanks Mills."

Robbi beamed.

A solid 7 indeed, Tuesday was.

Enough that plans were being talked over for Friday. There was a field trip to the dwarf mines set up for Friday, and a lot of kids were excited for a number of reasons: Skipping class for the day, going into the mines adults always told you to stay away from, seeing real fairy dust. Some kids thought they'd get a chance to touch the dust themselves, but Oliver doubted that was going to happen. Parents wouldn't sign the permission slips if that was the case.

Opal was excited because, obviously, her dad was going to be there, but her mother was also going to be there as a chaperone. Regina was chaperoning, too, and Robbi had said that she'd ask if they could all ride over together in her aunt's car instead of taking the bus. Some kids did that, riding with a chaperone instead of the bus. It seemed like a fine idea to them.

Wednesday Robbi confirmed that as long as it was okay with their parents, it was okay with Regina. (Don't track mud on the floor mats if you could help it, she advised, but that was only polite.) So it was settled.

Oliver was a little excited for the first time in a long time about a day at school. Mama took him in for his appointment at Archie's, and she must've noticed because she was smiling in that way neither of them did very often lately. She faltered a little when Papa stepped out into the hallway, leaving his own appointment, but Oliver thought she was just a little surprised to see him there, not upset. Probably.

Papa was cleanly shaved, and dressed in a black suit and tie. His shirt was a pale shade of lavender, though, with a lavender-and-white pocket square folded in a neat little triangle. He looked better than he had in a while, Oliver would say, but he stopped short when he saw Mama, too. Maybe they were _both_ surprised.

Henry had told Oliver once that he was "chaotic good", meaning something like he could be as sneaky as a snake when a situation called for it, but he only sneaked for the forces of good. So, he chirped, "Hi Papa! Bye Mama!" and slid by his parents into Archie's office.

They needed to talk more anyway, so why not now?

Archie didn't disagree at all, Oliver suspected, so they sat down and started his second session regardless of what was going on outside in the hall.

Right off the bat, Archie asked Oliver how was school. Monday he would've said it sucked and been reluctant to answer anything. (He should have brought his knitting, too.) But in light of the of the rather nice day he'd been having, he could be a little more honest.

"Kind of...kind of hit or miss, really. Did Robbi tell you what happened on Monday?"

"Yes, but, I'd like to hear your version of events."

Oliver picked at his cuffs, making note of the loose thread. "Well...this one guy, Phil, keeps picking on my friend Opal. He stole her hat Monday morning but Mrs. Nolan made him give it back."

"This would be Phillip Briars, right?" Archie asked. "And he's friends with Neal Nolan, isn't he?"

"Yeah. And Tommy Herman..." Oliver eyed Archie, wondering how much he should reveal about how Opal got her hat back on Monday. It was probably why Neal singled him out on the playground, come to think of it. "See, I sort of got Phil in trouble. I didn't tattle on him, but he had Opal's hat sticking out his pocket so I sort of...pointed it out. In class. So I think they wanted to get back at me during recess."

"Hmm..." Archie tried to look thoughtful, but it was a little hard with Figaro's head resting on his knee. "I see. Sort of like revenge."

"Exactly. And I'm used to them saying stuff about my dad because they're afraid of him, and, I dunno, I think they thought it was _funny_ after the Black Cauldron to make fun of him since Papa wasn't the Dark One anymore. So after Robbi came over to us, they came over too, and started. They wouldn't stop talking, and when Opal and Garrick tried to speak up they started picking on their parents, too."

"And you didn't go find a teacher?"

Oliver held in a sigh. Archie was nice. But he didn't have kids. He didn't know how the middle school worked in Storybrooke. Rule number one: Kids with former royalty as parents tended to get away with more than anyone else, and all three of the Unholy Trio had that going for them. Rule number two: Unpopular kids fend for themselves, which always included the Dark One's son, plucky fairy-dwarf hybrids, and half-fairy sons of puppets.

"Mrs. Nolan was on the other side of the playground and I don't think she saw what happened, and we were sitting on a bench so they would've blocked us anyway from leaving. Robbi was trying to help but, well, you know how she does that thing where she means well but doesn't do so well?"

"Yes, we've been working on that. I think she's making progress."

"Yeah, I guess so. She apologized Tuesday morning when she saw me and Opal. She caught Garrick at the diner Monday afternoon, but he was the most important person she needed to talk to anyway."

Archie made a note. He either wrote fast or used that shorthand thing, because Oliver wasn't sure what he put down in so few pencil strokes. "I see. You aren't friends with Robbi?"

"Well...not very? It's...it's sorta like we're friends through Garrick. They're close, me and Opal kind of let her hang around when she's not doing that _thing_ she does. I think we could be friends, eventually."

"Would you like that?"

Oliver shrugged. "She's not as bad as she used to be, I wouldn't mind. This Friday we're going on a field trip to the mines, and she said her aunt would drive us there together."

He did wonder what Regina Mills was going to wear on a field trip to the mines as a chaperone. Her sensible pantsuits didn't seem very sensible for that situation. There was a notice that they should wear closed-toed, sturdy shoes and clothes they didn't mind getting a little dirty, so likely all the kids would wear jeans and sneakers, but he had a hard time imagining the mayor wearing that.

Maybe he should get a disposable camera from the pharmacy and take a picture as evidence, because he doubted anyone else would believe it either.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure if his son had slid by them because it was too awkward or...no, it wouldn't make sense for Oliver to just leave them alone in the hall, would it?

Well it hardly mattered because there stood Belle in a creamy wool coat and her hair braided over her shoulder, a navy blue cloche hat on her head to match the edge of the color of that sweater dress. He was almost glad she was wearing that coat because he was a big fan of that sweater dress, with the cowl and the long sleeves that made it look slightly oversized. Ten years ago it was the sort of outfit that would have encouraged him to sidle up close to her and wrap his arms around her, with her looking all soft and warm.

There was no appropriate way to sidle or wrap now though, so he settled for trying to keep a calm exterior and make eye contact.

Easier said than done...

"Hey."

Well, good, his voice didn't crack or squeak or make any terribly humilating noises. Good.

"Hi," Belle said, fixing a horrible tense grin to her face. "I didn't know you had an appointment today."

"Uh...yes, um," he was aware that his fingers were twisting and clutching at his cane and generally not staying still at all, betraying his nerves like a neon sign. "I did. I forgot Oliver had one, too. How is he doing?"

Belle hesitated a moment, something making her face look pinched and uncomfortable for a moment. Then everything smoothed into a neutral mask again. It was probably something she didn't want to talk about, at least not with him. "Not badly, personally. There are some children at school that are giving him a rough time, but you may be surprised that Robbi Mills apologized for her errors."

Rumpelstiltskin had to drop his blank face for one of confusion, then a bit of interest, really. As far as he knew, Robbi Mills was a bit mercurial. She was either standoffish and snobby, or awkward and shy, depending on the people in the room and the circumstances, according to Oliver.

Personally, Rumpelstiltskin bore no ill will towards Robbi. She didn't look much like her deplorable mother, and any of the unsettling similarities between them in personality wise had melted when Regina took custody of her. The less she reminded him of the woman that had kept him captive in a filthy cage for a year the better. The more she took after the man that had boldly broken into his castle and stolen a fairy wand the better, at that.

"Well...good, I suppose..." he said at length. "He seems in good spirits at least."

Belle's tense smile softened. "Oh, very good spirits. There's a field trip to the mines this Friday, he can't wait. He keeps calling Opal 'their inside girl' and is wondering if he should wear his bicycle helmet or not in place of a miner's helmet. He'll want to tell you all about it, uh," she hesitated. "That is, if you're still up for him spending Friday nights?"

Her sudden shift in mood from fondness over their son to apparent hesitation was a bit jarring. Rumpelstiltskin tried to gather her meaning from those words, _"if you're still up for him spending Friday nights?"_  and hesitated himself.

Either Belle didn't want Oliver coming over, or she wasn't sure he was capable of minding their son. Rumpelstiltskin would like to think he'd done a good job Sunday keeping Oliver, but maybe he hadn't. Maybe Oliver saw things through a different lense than his father. Or, maybe Belle didn't want their son over at his house because Rumpelstiltskin, although fortunate enough to have a string of good days, a bit of a mess right now. He found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop, some sort of catastrophic fallout from his suicidal incident to strike. Maybe she was holding her breath until the next time he fell to pieces, too, waiting to see what would happen.

Dimly, Rumpelstiltskin realized that was the anxiety rattling his brain and none of that was necessarily rational.

A stray, _rational_ idea swept by quickly and he snatched at it before it could vanish. "If you don't mind, I'd like Oliver to keep spending Fridays with me," he said carefully, trying to gage Belle's reaction.

Which was, apparently, biting her lip. He often wondered how her lip gloss didn't stick to her pearly teeth when she did that.

"I think that's a good idea. Um..." she inhaled and drew herself up. "I would like to talk to you about some things on Saturday. Maybe I could bring by lunch?"

The anxiety popped up again and cheerfully asked if this was a test. Rumpelstiltskin was inclined to agree with it but that was generally a bad sign, siding with the anxiety, wasn't it? He was aware his palms were sweating now and almost wished Belle would start shaking her head and scolding him for trying to commit suicide last week, because at least then he'd have some idea of how to respond.

"I'll...I..." he swallowed thickly. "Okay. What things?"

"You're Oliver's father, so...well you should know that-Well it isn't your fault but-" Belle cut herself off with another deep breath. "We haven't...well, _I_   haven't done a very good job of keeping you in the loop where our son is concerned. He's having some trouble at school, like I said, and he doesn't always want to talk to me and I think sometimes he feels like has to pick as side-I'm not blaming you of course but-"

Another deep breath and a hesitant bite of her lip.

"I think it would be good for all of us if we could sort of...talk. Talk about...well, it doesn't have to be anything big or important, but maybe if we start _somewhere_ it would make Oliver feel less like he has to keep things to himself. D-does that...does that make any sense?"

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. It was a bit disheartening to hear that Oliver was having a rough time of things at school. And he wasn't sure if Belle was proposing this idea because she felt the need to invite him into their son's activities or if she thought he needed to step up as a father...perhaps both...but...

But it wasn't the worst idea. As a child he hadn't wanted to tell his "aunties" everything, because he felt like a burden. He'd come out of his shell slowly when he understood he wasn't a burden, and that they wanted to help where they could. And there was merit to the idea of a child seeing his parents not shouting at or uneasily ignoring each other the other in the same room.

"Saturday then, lunch," he nodded slowly, relaxing the uncomfortably tight grip he hadn't noticed on his cane. "Very well."

It was a bit comforting to see he wasn't the only person uneasy in the hall, judging from how Belle shifted. Of course it could have just been the heels on her boots, too. He knew she wore flat-soled shoes during her pregnancy, but didn't think Belle had so much as a single sneaker in her wardrobe. Not that he was much better with the one pair of sneakers he'd worn twice...

"Alright," she said at last, drawing his eyes back up from where they'd fallen on her footwear. "I'll be by around noon. How do you feel about hamburgers?"

"That sounds acceptable." Good lord his palms were sweating. How high did Hopper keep the heat in here?

"Good. Good. So I'll...I'll see you around, then."

That was a dismissal, and he was ashamed that he felt so relieved. "Yes, yes of course. Have a nice day. Belle."

Her name slid off his tongue in a clunky manner. He hadn't even been sure he wanted to say it because every time he spoke his estranged wife's name something in his chest hurt. Sometimes he fancied it was something catching on the jagged edges of his heart, when he felt particularly moody.

Goodbyes said, Rumpelstiltskin stepped around Belle, careful to give her plenty of room, and left. Henry was coming down the street as he peered out the door, and it was easy for him to slide into the passenger side without Henry needing to park.

"So, how did it go?" Henry asked, like always. And he always meant it, too.

"Fine. When you get to be my age, though, apparently everyone with a degree wants you to get more fresh air."

"Good to remember when I turn three hundred or so," Henry quipped, pulling away from the curb.

How did it go, though?

It was fine, a little puzzling, but fine. Hopper spent a fair deal of time asking Belle-related questions when they started. For some reason, either the cricket was convinced he was hiding something, or that Belle was a big issue. Well, he had some issues _connected_ to Belle, he was sure, but none of them were big in his opinion. There really wasn't even a "them" anymore to worry about, so those issues were all pointless anyway. Hopper had pressed for more about his feelings and thoughts though, until Figaro started butting against his knee and silently demanding his owner pick up the end of a rope toy and play tug-of-war.

Rumpelstiltskin switched the topic over to asking how he should get over a mental block he'd built himself. For some reason, he was having trouble going outside, even just to sit on the back porch. His nerves started acting up and he grew restless when he tried it, lasting all of five minutes at his longest stint. He suspected it was the memories of an actual mob outside baying for his powerless blood and the harassment that left him a shut-in for most of the past month.

Hopper had agreed that it was strictly a mental problem, especially something as innocuous as sitting on the porch. He recommended that Rumpelstiltskin try sitting there for five minutes, until he was comfortable with it. And then gradually increasing the time, perhaps taking a little walk around the backyard even, and seeing if that eased some of his discomfort.

That was good advice that Rumpelstiltskin decided to try when Henry took him home. Unsurprisingly Henry sat there on the porch with him, on the steps that weren't dusted with melting snow near the top, likely thinking his grandfather was just getting some air.

"Belle's coming over for lunch Saturday," he blurted out of the blue. He wasn't actually sure he said it until Henry turned with raised eyebrows like he'd said, _"I'm thinking of a little summer vacation in Neverland, what do you say?"_

"Like...this Saturday? Why?"

"She wants to talk about Oliver and how he's doing at school, or something to that effect. I think she feels our current... _relationship_ , makes our son feel like he has to choose a parent to side with. Oliver's going to stay over Friday and she'll drop by Saturday afternoon."

"Mmm..." Henry nodded slowly, mulling it over. "Okay. Are you gonna need me here?"

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, though more out of pride than confidence. It was just lunch, and Oliver was the center of their focus. He could handle that. He didn't need his grandson to hold his hand there. He could do this... "No, not unless you want a free hamburger out of it. Why don't you take Violet out to lunch, or go see one of your mothers?"

Henry drummed his fingers on his knee. "I might call Emma and see how she's doing...what do you think?"

"I think as long as the house is pest-free you'll be alright. Perhaps lunch out somewhere." Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been out in society enough lately to know what was going on now, but he had noticed that since Cleo Margaret Jones was born, something had further shifted in Emma's personality. He couldn't put his finger on it, but seeing her around town without either Hook or their daughter was a rarity...

"Maybe I'll ask how she feels about ice cream," Henry pondered, possibly thinking the same thing. "Ice cream's always good."

"It's January." Rumpelstiltskin gestured at the _actual ice_ around them.

"You don't know my mother. Ice cream is it's own food group."

"It's dairy, and a sweet."

"See? Two for one," Henry countered with a shameless grin. "Speaking of food, I'm gonna see what we have for dinner."

He left for the kitchen, and Rumpelstiltskin glanced around the backyard. After about a minute or so, the dreary gray sky and powdery white snow became very cold and bleak. Eerie. There was a lack of footprints and a stillness in the afternoon air that made him feel isolated and cold, despite knowing he'd only been out here maybe five minutes, four of which were spent in his grandson's company.

He lasted another minute before he went inside to help with dinner, out of the cold and the silence.

* * *

Archie wasn't surprised that Oliver wanted to avoid talking about his bullies in favor of focusing on the positive right now, but still tried to get a few facts out of him.

Something that was an unpleasant truth, when it did come out...

Now, Archie for one didn't care if a baby was born in wedlock or out of wedlock. In his eyes, the only thing that mattered was that the, uh, _union_ , was a mutually consenting one between two of-age persons, (or at the least, two similarly aged persons,) and perhaps the additional stipulation that nobody was married to someone else when it happened. That was definitely a little...iffy. A good example would be none other than Henry Mills.

(And a good example of it not being the _child's fault_ would be Robbi Mills. Certainly Robin Hood had been grossly taken advantage of by Zelena, but, that wasn't Robbi's fault and she couldn't be blamed for it. No child could, or should.)

But the issue _here_ was that three children had singled out three other children and called one a bastard, and knew exactly how to say it in the most hurtful way. And that it had been Neal Nolan to do it was disturbing.

Archie knew Neal was more than a little spoiled. And he'd heard through Robbi that Neal acted differently depending on who was around. If adults he respected were around, he was on his best behavior because he wanted to impress them. If adults he _didn't_ respect were around, he tried to figure out the boundaries of what he could get away with. And if adults weren't around at all, he decided he was in charge and that was it. The latter two seemed to be his prevailing attitudes on the playground.

Without having talked to him, Archie couldn't really understand _why_ Neal had singled out Oliver as his victim. It could be that he and his friends heard their parents talk about Gold before and were imitating them, in a fashion. He was held back and made to repeat kindergarten, but Archie wasn't sure why. It was much easier to pick on a powerless child, too, than the living boogie man their parents grew up fearing.

The reasons, in the end, hardly mattered because Oliver-Scratch that, _no one_ , deserved to be bullied. Especially not ten-year-old children. And especially not when if it were two adults in the same situation, the bullying would be classified as _harassment_ bordering on bigotry, and that sort of outlook wouldn't improve if left unchecked.

Archie intended to talk to Belle about perhaps getting together with Gold and addressing this matter, but then the phone rang as he was showing Oliver out. Bashful was calling in to reschedule his appointment for tomorrow. ( _Social anxiety_ , he was stable now but the idea of this field trip and all the children going down there made him a little antsy, which was understandable.) Belle and Oliver were gone by the time they he was finished, though, so he'd have to catch up with her later.

Oliver had already told his mother about Monday, and seemed to understand that both his parents, no matter what, loved him. And that was good enough for now. The united support of his parents might be something else Archie could work with, too...

If he could ever get them in the same room together.

* * *

It had even more painfully awkward than the last "conversation" Belle had with Rumple, but it opened up the door, at least.

She wanted to say: _"You deserve support, and not just because you're recovering and dealing with a mental illness, and I'd like for us to not necessarily start over, but build a new sort of connection because we owe it to Oliver to at least have a healthy relationship with one another. I want you to be aware of what's going on with him in school, so we can handle it together."_

It came out more of a stammering request for lunch on Saturday, but she thought the message had gotten out there at least. That was a start, right?

Belle sat in the waiting room reading a magazine. She was a little miffed someone had ripped out the recipe for pinwheel cookies made with Nutella, and her outrage at the reading material desecration was a bit of a welcome distraction until Oliver was finished. Archie's phone rang just as the door opened, preventing them from having any last minute words, and Belle decided they should go.

It was a Wednesday. Tomorrow was Thursday, and then Friday would be the day Oliver had his field trip and Belle had to help with the Valentines decorations at the diner. And Saturday...Saturday Belle would have to bring lunch to her estranged husband's house and try to pull herself together to have a civilized conversation.

Right.

Thursday must've been another good-enough day at school for Oliver because he didn't come home sullen. When Belle asked, he did look a little annoyed, though.

"Robbi got Mrs. Nolan when Phil was running around with Opal's hat again, and told she told him not to do it again. And he didn't, but instead he and Neal sat down by us at lunch and wouldn't leave," he made a face. "Then that little sneak even waited until a teacher came by and said we wouldn't let them sit there, so they made us let him sit there."

Belle really wasn't sure if her son was more miffed at two of his enemies sitting at the lunch table, or that Phil showed an ounce of cleverness. Maybe both.

"Well, tomorrow's your field trip," Belle said, squeezing his shoulder. "And considering both Opal's parents and her uncles will be there in a position of authority, they'd be pretty stupid to try that again, wouldn't you think?"

Oliver nodded distractedly, then said: "Mrs. Robinson was the teacher that told us we had to let them sit there. Opal tried to say Phil was picking on her when we were in her class later, but she got told that Phil was only acting like this because he _likes_ her. Papa didn't do stuff like that to you, did he?"

Belle wrinkled her nose, though not because of the question. She found it highly distasteful, always had, when people brushed off a male's behavior towards a female as "teasing" or "because he likes her", but especially in childhood. She doubted Gaston would have been such a beast if a tutor had cuffed him around the ears for pulling a little girl's pigtails once or twice.

"No, well..." she thought about it. "Your father, when I met him, was a little...well, he sort of wore a mask, you could say."

"Like a real mask, or is his whole...?" Oliver frowned, gesturing around his face.

"No. Well, he did have scales, sort of. Well, more like rough skin, but that's not the point. As the Dark One, he was...well he wasn't a regular man, so he adopted this sort of eccentric personality. Sort of a character he played."

"Regina says Papa used to be a drama queen."

Belle shouldn't have giggled at that, but she did. "Yes, he was a bit of a drama queen. I'm never sure how he did it, but he knocked on the door to my papa's war room and we were all prepared for him to come through the doors, though I hadn't a clue what he'd be like at the time. And the doors opened up, but no one was there, until we hear this voice behind us say, 'Well that was a bit of let-down, wasn't it?' And there was your father, lounging on my father's empty chair like he was king of the castle."

Oliver snorted. "I can't imagine him doing that."

"Oh, your father is full of surprises. Ask him what happens to little maids that keep him from shooting thieves with their own arrows," Belle smiled, then purse her lips. "But...well, I really don't think Rumple knew how to handle another person. As far as I know, until I came along, he was the only one in the castle unless he had a visitor looking to make a deal. Sort of...well sort of like Robbi, only a bit more aloof. Like he didn't want to admit he wasn't so beastly, especially not to me."

"Hmm...so...it's like he was shy?"

"Yeah, that's about right I guess. I mean he was still the Dark One, but he never...stole my things or forced me to do something. He could have. Actually, he probably should have told me to dust some more. The point is that your father might not have been a gentleman, but he didn't treat me poorly just to get attention. Opal doesn't owe Phil the time of day, there's nothing excusable about what he's doing and you never treat someone you like that way. Does that make sense?"

Her son nodded thoughtfully, then looked at her with a little tilt of the head that she knew he got from her.

"Papa said you were a terrible maid, you know. And that you set the kitchen on fire."

Belle felt her face heat. "The bread caught fire in the oven, I didn't burn the whole kitchen! It was the one time."

"Yeah, 'cause he wouldn't let you cook after that. He said he had to tell you not to do the laundry anymore either after you fell in the tub and nearly froze."

Well that was true, but...Belle shooed her son away from the library desk.

"Don't you have homework to do?" she mock-scolded. "I'm a very busy librarian. Shoo!"

Oliver darted away with a snicker, and Belle flopped in her chair, aware she was smiling like an idiot. True, the end of her time in the Dark Castle wasn't something she looked back at often, or fondly, but...it was one of the happiest times of her life before that.

And though she doubted he'd admit it to her now, probably one of the happiest times of Rumple's life too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I really believe that headcanon that maid!Belle was a terrible cook. I imagine it was because she would get absorbed in a book while whatever was baking, or get lost in the margins of a cookbook, and then there was fire. (Same, Belle, same.)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who read the story I posted called "A Valentine's Day Surprise for Two...Couples" you may notice a theme here. This is because I just spent about a week with a gross, snotty cold. Oh, and Dimetapp is a grape-flavored medicine that's my mother's go-to cold & cough medication, (kinda tastes the way making grape Jell-O smells,) but it does its job well.

Emma had been surprised when Henry called and asked about getting ice cream Saturday afternoon. It was good surprise though. She'd set up a Saturday playdate with Ruby, well, with Lydia really, and considered the matter settled. Killian rolled his eyes a little and muttered something about what sort of grown man goes for ice cream with his mother, but Emma had ignored it. She and Henry were still trying to find their footing after the whole...Violet thing, but this was something they used to do all the time. Get a treat, catch up.

It would be nice.

Except Wednesday Cleo came home after school she'd been complaining about "my mouth feels funny". Once Emma ascertained she hadn't suddenly developed an allergy to the peanuts she was eating as a snack, (which would devastate Cleo because she adored all things peanut,) she had suspected it was a cold. Thursday morning, Cleo had woken up with a very sore throat and a stuffy nose, and that put the kibosh on any plans for Saturday.

Emma went out to buy some cans of soup, Dimetapp, (Regina had sworn that it was grape-flavored magic for cold symptoms,) and some extra tissues. Those cold essentials you didn't think about until you caught your daughter blowing her nose in a paper towel. She hadn't paid any mind to the scratchy feeling at the back of her own throat, focusing on hurrying home at the time. Killian was due to go into the sheriff's office with David, it was his turn since they switched back and forth depending on the day. Obviously he couldn't leave their seven-year-old home alone, and he went off with a peck to her cheek not long after she returned home.

Once she had Cleo installed on the sofa under her fuzzy blanket, with her beloved stuffed ladybug she was old enough not to use as a tissue, (thank god,) actual tissues, a Hi-C juice box, and a cartoon on the TV, Emma called Henry from the kitchen. She hated that she had to cancel their plans, but Cleo was sick, and she couldn't very well expose Lydia to this stupid cold that was going all over town. Cleo probably caught it from Stephanie, or maybe someone else at school.

Henry was understanding, up to a point.

_"Why can't Hook watch her?"_

After their...rather memorable disagreement, when Henry was moving in with Gold, he'd stopped calling his stepfather Killian. Emma pretended not to notice, and focused on the question.

"He has plans. One of the windows on the Jolly cracked and he needs to replace it, or something like that."

_"And...he can't put a tarp over it? What's he doing today?"_

"He's at the station today. It's not a big deal, kid, we'll just reschedule. Maybe next week?"

The other line was quiet for a long moment.

_"Mom. Did you make your plans before Hook said he had to fix the window?"_

"Well, yeah, but I was going to send Cleo to Lydia's-"

 _"Fine. I'll call you the next time I'm free,"_ Henry cut her off shortly. _"God forbid Hook make time to take care of someone else."_

Emma shut her eyes. "Henry, don't be like that."

_"I've gotta go, a customer just walked in. I'll talk to you later."_

The line went dead and Emma groaned. That really could've gone better. She'd given up hope that Henry and Killian could get along peacefully, and now she just tried to keep them both neutral towards each other.

For Killian that meant not talking about Henry too much and definitely not inviting him over anymore, and for her son, that usually meant not letting Killian go to the pawnshop if she could help it or voicing his disapproval of Gold when they were together in public. The closest they'd come to blows lately was when Cleo had mentioned playing with Oliver at school and Killian snipped something to the effect of making sure "the Crocodile's" son didn't crush her heart.

Cleo had seemed to pick up on the unspoken rules, too. Daddy didn't want to hear about Henry, and Daddy didn't like Mr. Gold. Talking too much about either didn't make Daddy very happy. So Cleo picked silly stories about school and her friends (not Oliver,) and how they were learning about the ocean to talk about instead. Any big questions she came to Emma with, and that was fine. Cleo could always come to her if she needed something.

And Friday found them both congested, wearing pajamas and watching The Little Mermaid while Emma was waiting on the sudden pressure in her sinuses to give, so they were definitely going to spend a lot of time together for the next few days. Killian wished for them to feel better soon and placed a kiss to the top of each of their heads, before taking the keys to the Bug and heading out the door.

With Cleo giggling at the antics of the sea creatures during "Under the Sea", Emma felt she shouldn't complain too much...really.

* * *

Regina wouldn't be surprised if Robbi didn't sleep a wink. She was up much earlier than usual, and Regina found her niece busily brushing out her hair...with moderate success. Regina had either magic or servants to help tame her hair, (magic was better...but she'd been fond of the work her father had done, too,) but she was pleased when she cast the first Dark Curse that she had a short haircut. It was much easier to maintain that way.

Robbi loved her long hair too much, so, Regina got the detangling spray she'd bought for such mornings and grabbed the wide-toothed comb. Putting her hair in a loose braid did wonders for the tangles, but obviously Robbi had skipped that step last night. Oh well, she was dressed with everything right side out and matching shoes, so if her hair was a little messy, far be it from Regina to scold.

She had a step above Henry, at least. For years she'd had to practically rip the blankets off of her little prince to get him going in the mornings.

It was a bit pointless to wear school uniforms in the dirty mines and expect the students to stay tidy, so they were encouraged to wear practical, warm clothing with closed-toed shoes. (What idiot would be wearing flip-flops in Maine in February anyway?) Regina's black leather boots and dark wool overcoat were probably not what a miner would call "practical" but they were warm. She had slacks on and she didn't intend to wear jewelry, and she had a great dry cleaner, so she was fine.

This meant Regina didn't have much of a high ground to stand on when it came to Robbi's minty green sweater dress, but her niece was wearing thick woodsy-brown leggings and her sturdy hiking boots, and her furry-trimmed coat was plenty warm, so she would be fine too. Layers. Layers were wonderful things in clothing.

They were out the house and at school precisely on time. There was about thirty minutes between the start of school and their headed to the mines, so Regina got out the car after parking near the bus and walked around a bit.

Astrid was there, with a rather large tote bag sitting between her feet while she sat on a bench talking on her phone. Who knew what was inside the bag, but considering everyone knew Murphy's law was enforced by those twins of hers, Regina didn't doubt she was prepared for a lot. She'd dressed in jeans and sturdy, slightly ugly boots, and a warm-looking coat over a vest and sweater. Layers, see? She smiled a bit at Regina, but then turned her attention back to whoever she was talking to.

"He did what?" she asked in what sounded like total confusion. "How should I know...just tell them I said no and stick them in the microwave. Yeah, someone told them microwaves would melt their brains, so they won't go near it."

There was a story there, and Regina was mightily tempted to ask about it later.

Soon, a small horde of casually dressed children poured out when Snow opened up the doors, and Regina broke off those thoughts to seek out her four charges. Robbi...Garrick...Opal was taking a second to wave goodbye to her mother...and Oliver was...ah, there he was. He was a tiny thing, hardly surprising given how his parents were dwarfed by almost everyone in Storybrooke. Er...except the _dwarves_ , maybe.

"Hi Miss Regina!" Garrick chirped. He had jeans and a dark green turtleneck on under his army jacket, and a pair of black and white sneakers. "Thanks for giving us a ride."

"No problem. How's your mother doing?"

"She's okay," he nodded. "She said to say hi. So... _hi_ , I guess. Oh, and she sent you an apple, but it's in my lunchbox."

Oliver sniggered where he stood at the back of the group, but Regina smiled at Garrick, who really was too sweet for his own good. "Thank you, Garrick, that's very nice of you. I'll have to thank your mother personally." And in person, because she didn't doubt Tink would laugh at her. More than a little. Tink was a decent person though, maybe Regina should get back in touch with her...

Robbi and Garrick climbed into the back seat. Regina circled around to the driver's seat, but noticed that Oliver and Opal were playing rock-paper-scissors. She wasn't sure if the winner would get the front or the back, but Oliver got in beside her all the same.

She heard seatbelts clicking, (as they should,) but was suddenly hyperware that in his black coat and with that dark button-down, he looked...almost eeriely familiar. And he arched a brow at her while she was staring, too.

"You look a lot like your father."

The other brow went up in surprise. "Really? Everybody says I look like Mama."

"Well, her eyes maybe. Everything else? You look like Gold."

Opal's arm reached out the back and slapped Oliver's shoulder. "I told you so! You've got your mom's eyes, and your dad's everything else."

Oliver twisted around in his seat, narrowing his eyes. "No, you said I have Mama's eyes and Papa's everything else, _if_   I was blasted with green glitter."

"Fine. Garrick. Sneeze on Oli."

"What? Opal, I can't do that on command. Unless..."

Robbi gave a sudden squeal. "Don't even think about rubbing your nose on my hood Garrick Booth!"

"Sorry..."

Regina glanced at Oliver out the corner of her eye as they pulled out the parking lot and got on the road. "No, I can see that you look like him...you know, _normally_. And I don't know who told you his skin was green, because it wasn't."

"But Killian calls him the Crocodile, and crocodiles are green, right?" Robbi asked. "Well, I guess they look sort of grayish on TV."

Now that Regina thought about it, she wasn't really sure what you'd call Gold's "Dark One" skin, actually. "It sort of depended on the lighting, and what colors he was wearing. Sometimes it looked very gray, sometimes it was sort of greenish, even greenish-gray. A lot of times it looked sort of like gold and silver mixed together, actually. Kind of rough-looking, like scales but still skin. He was a really weird looking imp, I'll say that, even without the wardrobe."

"Wardrobe?" Oliver frowned. "What, did he wear like Sith Lord robes or something?"

"Ha," Regina snorted. "Hardly."

"Oh my god," Garrick groaned. "Please tell me he wore something-"

"Dude, that's my father!"

"I know! That's why I'm hoping he wore clothes!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Regina glanced in the rearview mirror. "Believe me, he wore clothes! _Everything_ was decent. Same amount of coverage he gets with those suits, I promise."

She heard a mumured _"oh thank god"_   from beside her, and then Opal chimed in: "So did they have Men's Warehouse in the Enchanted Forest or is it more a Shakespeare-in-the-park deal?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he made most of those clothes by magic. Although he had one dragonhide coat, at least. Lots of leather coats, too, well, a lot of leather. Coats, vests, tall boots... _pants_." A lot of leather pants. It wouldn't be appropriate to mention it to minors, and she'd been weirded out at the time, but that was probably one of the top five first things she'd noticed about Rumpelstitlskin.

"Like...like pants made out leather," Robbi hesitated. "Or the leather pants _I'm_  thinking of? The kind that are like...man-tights."

"They...were a bit more form-fitting than his slacks are, yes."

Oliver shut his eyes. "My father wore leather pants and dealt in babies. Oh my god. He's Jareth the Goblin King."

"Well he had the flair for it, I promise you that." Understatement, much? "His hair was better though. Slightly."

"Please stop talking."

"No, please _keep_ talking," Opal giggled. "I saw that movie with him, I wanna know what Mr. Gold's hair looked like because it has to be an improvement."

"Oh it wasn't that bad. It was brown, about the color of your hair Oliver-"

"Don't bring me into this again! I am not the Goblin King!"

"And sort of long, about to his shirt collar. Sort of these frizzy curls, it was really the least weird thing about him. His eyes were the creepy part, these big bug eyes that were sort of gold and like a reptile's eyes."

"See, _crocodile_." Robbi chirped proudly.

"Are there pictures? I'd like to see pictures of that," Garrick said. "Hey Oliver-"

"I can't hear you!" he slapped his hands over his ears. "I'm pretending Papa's never been a leather-wearing reptilian rockstar, _la-la-la!_ "

Opal reached up and slapped his shoulder again. "Hey! At least the most famous interpretation of your father isn't three feet tall with a white hillbilly beard and a giant pink nose. Don't be so dramatic."

"If it helps Oliver, my mom really was green," Robbi offered. "I do think your Evil Queen dresses a cool though, Aunt Regina. How did your hair look?"

"Elaborate. I confess that the one thing I missed most about magic during the first curse was having my hair set and ready in a snap."

She heard a slightly envious sigh from her niece and smiled. She was pretty sure Robbi did have magic, and it would be best to teach her in a healthy way how to get a handle on those powers once she had a healthy grip on herself. Haircare spells would probably be helpful.

Oliver changed the subject then, to what the other children had brought for lunch. (Probably more than a little desperately, too, and Regina should probably feel bad for making a child squirm like that but, well, he had to learn these truths somewhere...that it was fun was a bonus.) Mostly sandwiches, although Regina wasn't too sure if Garrick's Nutella-and-chunky peanut butter sandwich was _actually_ a sandwich. Then again, apparently Oliver put ketchup on his ham sandwich. Ham was protein, at least, and there was protein in peanut butter.

She'd played along by saying she had a turkey and swiss sandwich and a cup of yogurt in the little cooler bag in the trunk. Nobody was overly impressed, and Regina was pretty sure Opal mentioned her mother had brought cookies in her tote bag out of pity.

Pity cookies were still cookies, at least.

* * *

Except for some rather embarrassing new details about his father in the Enchanted Forest, (why Papa, why?!) Oliver had been having a good day so far. Part of that was probably because his exposure to the Three Stooges was limited to under thirty minutes before they'd headed to the mines, but still. His friends were close by, he had a ketchup and ham sandwich, and Astrid had cookies in her bag. And she was the type that made sure there was enough for everyone, so Oliver had all that going for him.

It made it easier to ignore the complete turmoil that happened two weeks ago, a nice day like this.

Once they parked a ways from the mine entrance and everybody was gathered together, Mrs. Nolan did a headcount of all sixteen kids in case someone had vanished between school and the mines. Random portals used to happen a lot in Storybrooke, so Oliver couldn't say that was a bad idea. They went in alphabetical order by first name, starting with Aerowyn and ending with Wilbur.

Both of which were decent kids. Aeronwy's name was spelled differently than it was spoken, eye-RAWN-wee, but she was a nice, smart girl. Wilbur's father was probably one of the Three Little Pigs...Oliver wasn't sure how that story went really but he knew his father hadn't been involved, for once, which was probably why no one really cared-

"Oliver?"

"Here!" he raised up his hand to make doubly sure she could see him.

"Opal?"

"Also here!" she replied, copying him. It was _hard_ being short sometimes, thought at least Opal was wearing her bright magenta slouchy hat that was a little more noticeable than her purple beanie. Maybe she'd done it on purpose, like a traffic cone. A pink traffic cone.

There was only a few more kids behind them counting two of the Unholy Trio and Robbi, so Oliver tuned out roll call. Everybody had dressed appropriately, more or less, for an expedition to the mines. Warm coats, mostly pants although a few girls were wearings skirts and leggings. Robbi had on some kind of sweater dress, contrasted by hiking boots. Opal was wearing jeans, a dark thermal shirt and a blue zip-up vest under her puffy coat, and battered boots that really hurt like hell if she stepped on your toes.

Oliver felt sort of underdressed (overdressed?) in his dark blue-and-black plaid button down and regular black coat and a pair of jeans. He wasn't sure if snowboots were the right footwear for a mine, but they were the sturdiest shoes he had, and kept his feet warm. He'd forgotten his gloves, so for now, he kept his hands jammed into his pockets.

"Okay, we're all here!" Mrs. Nolan chirped, clapping her hands together. "Now before we head into the mines, I want you all to pay close attention. We're here to learn about the process of mining and refining fairy dust, so the dwarves are going to walk us through the mines and show us what they do, then after lunch, some fairies are going to come by and show us what fairy dust can do. We're going to watch and take notes, but, we will not be touching the equipment, and, I don't want anyone trying to take home a pinch of fairy dust. I mean it!"

A pale kid with curly ash-blonde hair named Billy raised a hand.

"Do pickaxes count as equipment?"

Mrs. Nolan blinked. "Yes, Billy. And they all belong to the dwarves anyway."

Phil raised his hand, next. "Can we handle an axe if we ask nicely?"

Oliver snorted at the thought of Phil asking for anything nicely, and he could almost hear Opal rolling her eyes as Mrs. Nolan had to essentially outline the rules again: _Look with your eyes, not your hands. Take notes. Don't touch the machine, tools, axes, lamps, or basically anything unless you're invited to do otherwise. No stealing fairy dust. We mean it._

Then Aeronwy raised her hand and asked an intelligent question.

"Is fairy dust magic before it's ground up, or after it's processed?"

"Well..." Mrs. Nolan faltered a bit, then looked to Astrid. They did that grownup wordless communication thing and Opal's mother stepped forwards a bit with a smile.

"Fairy dust is a solid, crystallized form of magic. A raw material. It has magical properties in all stages, but more practical applications in dust form. The raw crystals found in the ore in the mines are powerless unless you apply magic to them."

Garrick stood on his toes, raising his hand up. "Does that mean that if I sneeze on one, they'll turn all green?"

"Or they'll blow up!" Neal chimed, which sent a ripple of laughter through the other students.

Astrid didn't laugh, though. She gave it a moment of thought and said, "Well, maybe. But unless you had the intent you'd use when you were casting a spell, that's all that would happen. I think. The green I mean, not the explosions. That sounds like a good question for the dwarves, Garrick, you'll have to remember to ask them."

Neal huffed ahead of them, but before he could try another angle, Mrs. Nolan was finished outlining the rules that, called out, "Okay! Time for everyone find a buddy, and we'll head into the mines!"

Oliver held his elbow out to Opal, his usual "buddy". She stuck her tongue out at his chivalry, (at least that's what Papa said it was, offering your arm to a girl, but Oliver thought _chivalry_ was more in line with pulling out chairs and holding doors himself,) but linked arms anyway. Neal had wormed his way around them, but retreated again with a sour expression as he fell in step with Phil. Sometimes Robbi buddied with Garrick, sometimes with Neal. Apparently he was displeased with her choice today.

Well, too bad for him, because so far Oliver was having a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next two chapters of this done, (yay me!) and I suspect I'll post the next one next Friday/Saturday. I miss having a regular update schedule, so I'm trying to get back into it with this story. Thank you for reading!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come! Come! Enjoy some plot twists that took on a mind of their own and broke from my first draft! *skips into the mines*

David knew something was going on...he just couldn't tell what.

He thought Snow knew something too, but sometimes she seemed as puzzled as he was. It was the strangest feeling that people were looking at him like he should know something, but he kept drawing a blank. He found a library book he forgot about while cleaning out his truck and went to turn it in Wednesday, and Belle gave him this weird look. David would like to think it was because he'd never had an overdue library book before, and that's why she was looking at him like she was waiting for him to say something. Or apologize.

Then Archie had came up to him when he'd stopped to pick up a cup of coffee Thursday morning. Not unusual, but Archie had asked how things were at home. Again, not unusual, but there was something about how Archie kept asking after the kids, Neal especially... _that_ was unusual. When he made his way to the sheriff's station, he definitely got a narrow-eyed look from Marco, and that was really strange, too.

When he went back to the dinner for lunch and came across Henry, he decided to ask if he knew anything about it.

"Hmm...no," Henry shook his head. "I can't speak for Archie or Marco, but I don't know why Belle would give you the stink-eye."

"No, she just looked like I'd let her down. Marco had the stink-eye. You think I'm imagining it?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. You done anything to make you feel guilty lately?"

Except for overdue library book, not really. Nope...hmm...

Then, when David was on his way home, he crossed Tink heading out the grocery store while he was going in. And she had a much more vicious stink-eye than Marco, that was for sure. He certainly hadn't imagined that, not at close-range.

 _Something_ was going on, but he didn't know what.

He'd have to talk to Snow when she got home after the field trip today...

* * *

Opal was probably one of the only kids in Storybrooke to have seen fairy dust before, since her family played a big part in it. Her mother even used to be like the dust delivery girl, collecting a big supply bag of it from the mines. That was how her parents met.

Well, the first time.

"Now, in the Enchanted Forest," Uncle Happy was saying while they'd all gathered around in a nice-sized cavern in the mines that branched into two different tunnels. (He might've been elected as speaker as the friendliest of Opal's uncles.) "Dwarves were born, lived, and worked underground in the mines. We hatched out of eggs, all at the same time, as a working team-"

"Where do the eggs come from?" Alyssa interrupted.

Uncle Happy shrugged. "We don't know. They were just there."

"Did somebody lay them?"

"We don't know-"

"Ewwww," Billy scrunched up his face. "Did you come out all goopy like a hatchling?"

"Alyssa, Billy," Mrs. Nolan cleared her throat. "Why don't we wait until they ask if we have any questions?"

"But-"

"But we came out fully grown, and clean," Dad said sharply, cutting Billy off mid-question. "Dwarves hatch ready to go to work, as a team of brothers. And then you get your axe."

Opal grabbed Oliver's hand and they wiggled to get into a better position when everyone started moving to do the same. Axes. This was the good part.

She dragged Oliver to the front, (they were short, they had a reason to be there,) as Dad hefted up his axe. It didn't really _look_ special: Three feet long, light-colored wood, with a sturdy base for gripping and a wicked-looking head for busting up rock. Between Dad's hands on the center of the handle was dark lettering, like it had been burned into the wood: **GRUMPY**.

"The axe never lies, it's reflects who you really are. Your identity."

Oliver's hand went up.

Dad pointed his axe at him. "Yes?"

"Does that mean that if you were to change, then the name on your axe can change?"

Dad paused a moment. Long enough for Opal to hear Tommy snicker-whisper to Neal: "Oh! People can change!' Yeah. I bet that's what his mom said last time his dad screwed her over..." 

She doubted anyone else heard. Good. Idiots should be seen, not heard. Maybe not even seen at that.

"Yeah. Yeah that's true. The axe never lies. Dwarf axes don't break often, but when they do, and if you've gone through something to...change," Dad said, his eyes flicking briefly at Mom. "Then you'll get a different name."

Uncle Happy added: "And on that note; Let's head this way. Everybody grab your partner and come this way. First, we're going to show you how we look for the deposits of crystals. Oh! And you see this pattern in the ceiling up here? That's called a fault line, and it's where two different plates of rock are pressing together. It's very unstable, and disturbances in the earth will lead them to shift and collapse. But that's why we have this shoring up-these timbers on the walls and ceiling,-to give it more support..."

Opal always found it slightly unsettling when Uncle Happy was giving out warnings. Who talked about cave-ins with a smile?

Oliver glanced up at the ceiling and Garrick paled when the ground took a slight decline as they headed downwards, deeper into the mines. Robbi looped her arm through his so he wouldn't freeze up and fall behind, which wasn't really so dangerous. The main mining tunnels were lit by these lightbulbs in little metal cages hung along the walls, so it wasn't dark here.

If it were, Garrick would've been out the exit by now. Opal wondered if it was a fairy thing to be claustrophobic and scared of the dark, and if it was, why her mother didn't look even a little nervous. She'd gone ahead and whispered something back and forth to Dad, and Opal thought she saw them squeeze hands before Mom pulled back to get Billy to stop scaring Alyssa with talk about bats.

There weren't any bats in this part of the mines. On the south side of the mines there was a big cavern that smelled _awful_ , and they were in there, but these mines were clean enough. It was sorta cool underground, but dry. Sometimes the air got really dusty when they were mining and sometimes it turned a little damp, but this spot was nice-

"What's with you Booth?" Neal snickered, sliding up on the other side of Robbi. "Scared of rocks?"

"No..." Garrick swallowed. "But I'm not so crazy about them when they're falling on my head."

Opal groaned when Phil fell in step with her, keeping her between him and Oliver. The mine was just big enough for the three of them to walk side-by-side-by-side without being squashed together...unfortunately. They'd ended up in the middle of the procession, too, with Mom and Mrs. Nolan at the front of the line and Robbi's aunt riding drag.

"So Opal, have you got an axe?" Phil asked, looking her over like she might be hiding it in her pocket.

"No," she said crisply, keeping her eyes straight ahead. If he tried to take her hat, she didn't think an adult could reach them in the time it would take for her to stomp his feet black and blue. "I do not."

"Why? You're a dwarf aren't you?"

"I'm half dwarf. Dad's a dwarf, Mom's a fairy."

"Ohhh," Robbi said from behind them. "So they really _are_ your six uncles. Wow. Do they have seven birthday cakes?"

"Nah, just the one. And if disappears really fast." There was no less than a dozen people working on that cake, it didn't stand a snowball's chance of being leftovers. It was almost always a yellow cake with chocolate icing, which was a really great cake flavor, but Opal liked the cookies-and-cream ice cream cake better-

"Is it because you're a kid?" Phil pressed, unabated. "Do you have like, just the handle or something?"

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?" Oliver asked, with a frown that made him look grim. "We're on a tour anyway, why don't you listen?"

"Why don't _you_ listen? Hey," Neal reached forward and poked Opal in the back, and she turned on reflex more than anything. "What gives? Didn't they give you an axe?"

As much as it pained Opal to admit, they sounded genuinely curious. Rude and stupid, but curious. But she didn't appreciate being poked and crammed in with an idiot to her left and another one at her back, and was wary when Robbi swatted at Neal's hand when he went to poke her again.

"Hush! Pay attention!"

Oh thank god; They found a deposit. _Eureka._

The tunnel opened up some, enough that they could put some distance between Jerk One and Jerk Two. Uncle Sneezy was here, and tried to point out the ideal conditions for the crystals to develop in the rockface. He patted the wall and a little cloud of dust wafted up, and he gave three big sneezes that set the whole class to giggling. Everyone got to go up to the wall and look really closely at the raw crystals, (Garrick pinched his nose shut in case he had a sneezing fit of his own,) and got to touch the marks on the stone where the axes had struck the rocks and old crystals had been prised free.

Then they went down another tunnel to a set of tracks and a mine cart. Dad and Uncle Happy started explaining how, from here, the crystals were loaded into a cart and to another part of the mines where the crystals would be crushed up, to later be ground into the fairy dust. The crystals were blue, but the dust was more like someone mixed pink and purple glitter together. It was very pretty, but Opal wasn't sure what made it change colors. She should definitely ask that at the processing part-

Phil's elbow dug into her ribs.

"Hey, so, do you get a little half axe?" he asked. "Since your half dwarf, I mean."

"She doesn't have an axe Briars, now shut up."

"I'm not talking to you, _Gold_."

"Oh my god," Opal shut her eyes. "Will you please shut up? Can't you go play spin the bottle with Neal and Tommy and just leave me alone?"

"Hey, don't be like that," Phil frowned. "I'm just curious. I mean, if you don't have an axe, then does that means you got a magic wand instead?"

"No!"

Opal must have been too loud; She saw her mother's head whip around, in that way she did when she heard something.

Monday, Opal hadn't quite...well she hadn't quite told her parents what all had happened. She toned it down to the usual crap that happened. Picking on Oliver, picking on her when she tried to stick for him. Nothing specific. Why? She couldn't say _why_ she didn't spill the beans, it was probably because she didn't want her parents coming down to the school to have to stick up for her against a trio of dumbasses. They weren't...they just...ugh! They were like mosquito bites, just irritating little spots in her life, nothing worth bothering anyone over.

Until they started itching...

By then, they'd followed the tracks all the way to the processing machine. This was the one that ground them up into small pieces. It was cobbled together from a woodchipper and a dryer, among other things. It wasn't pretty, but highly functional, and they watched Uncle Dopey put a bunch of raw crystals in where the branches would go on an ordinary woodchipper, and put the improvised metal lid over it to reduce excessive particles. There was a sort of sheet/funnel attached the the spout where the stuff came out, made from a tarp, that kept all the crunched-up bits in another cart without dust flying around. Opal had always thought it was a very impressive set up, considering they'd had to make everything from scratch after the first curse broke.

Uncle Dopey didn't speak, of course, but since this step was pretty self-explanatory, _crystals in; bits out_ , he did this job well. Dad and Uncle Happy were still there to answer any questions while the dust settled enough for them to move this cart on out the mines to the refining machine that ground the small gravelly crystals into the finished powder.

Opal asked her question about why the dust changed colors. Dad and Uncle Happy looked at each other before Mom answered: "It changes properties, then. From a raw ingredient to a finished product. Kind of like making sweet lemonade out of sour lemons."

Robbi asked an interesting question: "Can you make jewelry out of the crystals, and would that be magic jewelry?"

"I guess hypothetically, yes," Uncle Happy agreed. "You'd have to be a jeweler though, which we aren't."

"Do you whistle while you work like in the cartoon?" Billy asked.

"Not like in the movie, no, sorry to say. But it does make a good cadence for marching. Any mining questions out there? Yes, you, blonde boy with the freckles-" Uncle Happy blinked. "Garrick? What happened to your hair?"

"I got a haircut," he replied, standing up on his toes. "Um, I think I was supposed to ask you about it earlier, but I was kinda worried the mine was gonna collapse so I forgot. If somebody used magic on the fairy dust jewels while they were still in the ground, what would happen?"

"That depends, I guess," Dad replied after a long moment. "Since the veins of crystals run all throughout Storybrooke, it would affect the whole town."

Mrs. Nolan beckoned Robbi's aunt around to the front of the group. "Regina, could you tell us anything about it?"

"Uh, fairy dust isn't really up my alley," Regina held up her hands. "But I do agree. That's what powered the first protection spell around Storybrooke to ward off outsiders. That much raw fairy magic would fuel a very, very powerful spell."

Opal rolled her eyes a little. Her mom, _an actual fairy_ , was right there. Why didn't Mrs. Nolan ask her? Probably because Mrs. Nolan was a ding-dong. She didn't notice Neal whispering something to Robbi that made her face scrunch up and shove him away, but she noticed Oliver when he hissed, "Knock it off!"

"Oliver?" Mrs. Nolan called. "Do you have a problem back there?"

Oliver scowled. "No ma'am..."

Dad looked suspicious, but then Uncle Dopey tugged on his sleeve and made an 'okay' sign that meant the cart was ready to roll out. So they went off again, after everyone got to see the gravel in the cart. The largest pieces were as big as a strawberry, the smallest were smaller than a pencil eraser, and they had taken on a sort of purple color. Maybe it was just a refraction of light that made the raw crystals look blue.

Opal asked that and she swore Mom and Dad looked proud about her asking such a question. Mrs. Nolan began to talk about gemstones as they walked, then, and had to explain how light affected color when someone asked that. Opal and Robbi might've teased Garrick earlier, but he really did know colors. He shot his hand up and chirped that prisms divided white lights into rainbows.

That was when Neal snickered.

"You know a lot about rainbows, do ya Booth?"

"Well, sorta-"

"Ignore him Garrick," Opal advised. "He's begging for attention."

Neal wriggled forwards between her and Oliver, then. The tunnel had narrowed again, meaning Oliver got pushed back, leaving Opal stuck between Neal and Phil. And she had a sinking sort of feeling over who was their target now. Oh crap...

"So, Opal," Neal started. "If you don't have an axe, and you didn't hatch from an egg, does that mean you're more fairy?"

"Oh my god, do you even hear yourself right now?" Opal scoffed. "You're literally trying to put me in a box. Knock it off and listen to your mommy, you might actually learn something useful."

A hand landed on her back, suddenly, pressing between her shoulderblades through her coat. She didn't know who it was until Oliver snapped, "Hey!" just as Phil said, "So are your wings here-"

Opal spun around and shoved him into the wall of the tunnel so fast that Robbi almost crashed into her. Phil looked shocked to have been pushed down, and had the nerve to look offended.

"Hey!"

"Don't touch me!" Opal snapped back.

"I didn't do it!"

"What's going on back there?" Mrs. Nolan called out. "Opal-"

"Yes you did!"

"No he didn't! Mom! Opal pushed-"

"Shut up!" Oliver snarled. "You're the one that started it you jerk! Leave her alone!"

Neal gave Oliver a shove: "Tell your bitch to shut up."

In the next second, Oliver shoved Neal hard enough to knock him against the wall. Then in the next second after, Tommy came out the bug-eyed students watching them and sucker-punched Oliver in the face and knocked him to the ground, and Opal jumped him.

And by the third second, everything shook, and went black...

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin had several cookbooks open in front of him on the kitchen table. He'd planned on making molasses cookies with Oliver when he arrived for the night, and was considering baking a cake for Saturday. Years ago when he and Belle were getting along sort of congenially, if not impersonally, it was a tradition for one to provide the meal and another to bring dessert. Belle had lunch, so, should he or should he not provide a cake?

Would it be too much?

A cake would probably be too much.

Maybe more cookies, hmm. Yes. Cookies were small, harmless little disks, nothing too labor intensive or showy. He had a decent shortbread recipe scrawled on an index card he hadn't needed to read in years. Oliver _loved_ shortbread, and he loved cutting them into shapes and decorating them until the kitchen was a sugary, sticky mess of frosting and sprinkles. It was a neater process now of course, but he still happened to like shortbread-

A spark shot up Rumpelstiltskin's spine and he dropped the pen in his hand.

Something just...shook. There was no sound, no light, the tremor was so faint he wouldn't have noticed it without the spark of...of _magic_.

* * *

Dopey was the primary witness at the end of the day.

He'd shut off the machine, done the saftey check around it to make sure everything was square, and then jogged to catch up with the field trip. Since by then, the group that was Oliver Gold, Neal Nolan, Phil Briars, Robbi Mills, Garrick Booth, and Leroy's own daughter Opal, had ended up at the back of the line. All the adults had been put at the head of the line since Snow called Regina up front.

What Dopey saw was Phil and Neal standing on either side of Opal. And then Phil was touching Opal. And she pushed him down. And things got a little fuzzy from there, but Tommy Herman popped out the cluster of students and punched Oliver to the ground. Opal tried to jump Tommy, but Phil sprang up and grabbed her hair pulled her hair. Garrick jumped to help Oliver, Tommy and Neal wouldn't let him, and Robbi started screaming "stop it!" while it devolved into a brawl from there, the adults trying to get through the other students to break up the fight.

_Then..._

The crystals in the minecart, Dopey insisted, flashed a bright blue. Everyone felt the tremors in the earth, but not everyone noticed the shockwave rip through the air and knock them all to the ground, completely blacked out. Happy's watch had cracked when he fell, and comparing it to the time displayed on his cell phone showed they'd all been out for nearly half an hour.

Immediately, the children started finger-pointing, the others started panicking, and a second fight nearly began before Snow had shouted over the din of voices for everyone to go outside so they could settle this.

While five of his brothers took the rest of the class off somewhere else to eat lunch, Leroy had Dopey stick with him, Astrid, Regina, and Snow in front of the main seven children. Robbi was placed in the middle with Neal, Phil, and Tommy on one side, and Oliver, Opal, and Garrick on the other side. They figured that was the safest configuration. The other six kids, all dirty and disheveled, looked like they were going to jump each other and start a second bout if they were left alone.

Well, Garrick looked nervous, too. He timidly raised his hand, like they were still having a lesson. "Wh-what happened?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Snow began, almost calmly. Mostly she looked unsettled. "Now, um...can anyone tell me what started the fight?"

Nobody spoke at first, so she settled her eyes on the middle child. "Robbi? Did you see what happened?"

Leroy wasn't being insensitive when he thought Robbi was going to be a useless witness. She was squirming and wringing her hands, her eyes were big and watery, and she stammered something about Phil and Neal doing... _something_ , before Regina shook her head. She wrapped an arm around Robbi and walked her off to the side as the girl dissolved into tears. Robbi was shy, only just adjusting to a stable environment, and as far as Leroy knew she was friends with both Neal and Garrick, so she probably felt torn between the two sides. Useless witness, poor kid.

With Robbi gone, (and a space between them,) the rest of the kids looked everywhere _but_ at Snow, until she looked directly at Neal.

"Neal. Can you tell me what happened?"

Neal raised his chin defiantly, despite the trickle oozed out the corner of his mouth. "We didn't do anything! _She_ started it!"

"Opal pushed me down!" Phil added. He looked like Opal had socked him in the eye, and Leroy couldn't find it in him to scold her for that. Well, she could work on her aim, maybe...it was more on his cheek than his eye. Still, Phil was almost two years older than Opal. She held her own.

"Well why did she push you-"

"You touched me!" Opal snapped. "That's what happened! He was-"

"Opal, please," Snow spoke in what might've been a placating tone if Opal's face weren't already burning red. "I'll get to you in a minute-"

"No," Astrid said, and Leroy probably looked as surprised as Snow did. "Opal, what do you mean he touched you?"

Opal shifted on her feet, pressing her lips together. Garrick was the one to meekly chirp, "He touched her back. Her shoulders, where...fairies have, y'know... _wings_..."

Astrid bent down to be closer to Opal's level, taking her hands. Leroy stood where he was, casting an eye over on the other three. Neal was still looking like an arrogant little shit, Phil looked really shifty and nervous, and Tommy was somewhere in the middle. Snow was only watching Opal with something like concerned curiosity.

"Honey," Astrid spoke softly, squeezing their daughter's hands. "Does this have something to do with you, or me and your dad?"

Opal swallowed, glancing to Leroy. He would seal that Briars boy in a side tunnel for the next decade with his two friends for company, so help him, no matter what the answer was. This morning Opal had been almost bouncing off the walls with excitement at going to the mines, 'her territory' she'd called it, and now she looked like she just wanted to sink into the ground and die.

"S-sorta..." Opal whispered. "M'sorry..."

"They asked if Opal had a dwarf axe." Oliver had started picking at the cuffs of his coat. He had a scrape on the left side of his face from hitting the ground, and a bruise where Tommy hit him. "And if she didn't have an axe, did she have wings or not. They wouldn't leave her alone because she kept ignoring them. And Neal...Neal was picking on Garrick, too, because he wanted to be Robbi's partner."

Astrid turned calmly towards Garrick. He had a bruise forming on his temple. "Is that right, Garrick, Neal was picking on you?"

"I guess?" he shrugged.

Snow frowned, looking at her own son. Neal maintained his arrogant-shit attitude though. "I didn't so anything," he denied. "I mean I did wanna walk with Robbi, but-"

"You said, 'Do you like walking with girls now?'," Oliver narrowed his blue eyes at him. "And you called Opal a bitch when I told you to shut up."

Neal's attitude finally buckled when Leroy snapped his head towards him. Sure, everyone's eyes turned on him then, but it was undoubtedly worse to have both of Opal's parents and an uncle eyeing him now. Neal nervously looked towards his mother, probably seeking support, and his friends seemed to sense a shifting in situation. Like the ground was slipping from under their feet.

"Neal!" Snow sounded more scandalized than truly upset. "Where did you hear that word?"

"Seriously? _That's_ the part you're worried about?" Leroy snapped. "Where he heard that-I don't care where he learned it, I want to know why he called my daughter that! Talk, kid!"

Neal's hazel eyes got big.

Snow turned to place a calming hand on Leroy's arm. Or it would have been calming if her next words hadn't been: "Leroy, calm down, they're just children."

Leroy shrugged his one-time friend's hand off. "No! Apparently my daughter is some weird creature that gets to be poked on and pestered, while _yours_ is just a child. No, no, don't you play that boys-will-be-boys crap-"

"Leroy," Astrid said, and his wife's voice did far more to bring Leroy down a notch than Snow's could. "She's right, you should calm down. Opal, Oliver, is that everything you have to say? Garrick?"

Opal shook her head. Garrick muttered, "no ma'am" and Oliver stuffed his hands in his pockets. He glanced around at everyone else before shaking his head. No. For now, they were done. Astrid nodded, getting back up on her feet.

"Good. Now I'm going home, would you like to leave?"

"What?" Snow's eyebrows went up. "You can't just leave like that! We're on a field trip-"

"To the dwarf mines," Astrid said. "And since that part is done, I see no reason for me or Opal to be here. Boys? Do you want to come?"

Garrick and Oliver traded glances. "Yes ma'am."

"Wait a minute, wait!" Snow protested. "We're not finished here. We have to talk about this!"

Leroy ground his teeth. He looked Snow in the eye and wished, not for the first time, that he had some extra height on her.

"This ain't a classroom, sister, it's the mines. If you want to talk, you can set up something at school and we'll talk. For now? You better be glad you've got nine other kids who are sticking around for a field trip, and that our part in it is over. Because if it were up to me? I'd send you home myself."

Dopey nodded sharply in agreement.

Regina returned, alone, then. "I'm taking Robbi home," she said without preamble. "She's not going to be good for paying attention for the rest of the day. I'm sorry, but we have to go."

Snow hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Right. Right, of course...I-I'm very sorry about-"

Leroy brushed by her, feeling like he was going to throw up. Oh. So Regina got a pass, but Astrid and he were unreasonable? Opal turned guilty brown eyes up at him, but Leroy wasn't having that. He gave his daughter a hug and kissed the top of her head. Her hat had gotten lost on the floor of the tunnel somewhere, he'd have to go back and find it.

"I'll see you when I get home, alright?"

"'m sorry Dad-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay," Opal nodded.

Astrid squeezed his hand when he let go of their daughter, and she turned to Regina. "Could we get a ride back to town?"

Regina frowned. "All of you? Uh, okay. It's going to be a little tight, but right this way..."

Garrick shyly fell in step with Regina as they walked off. Leroy thought he heard him ask if Robbi was okay, and Astrid had a hand on Oliver and Opal's shoulder as they followed behind them. He watched them go for a moment, and then turned to face Snow, who was looking more than a little bothered. Good.

Leroy scowled at her, and the three boys who looked completely lost now.

They should just be grateful he didn't leave them lost in a walled-off mineshaft for the next century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no prizes but smug satisfaction/justified disgust for guessing where Neal learned "that" word. *puts soap in his mouth* You just keep that there until your father gets home, little boy.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pssssssst--guess who doesn't care about Sunday? :D <<

Henry did have a customer that walked in that prompted him to hang up on Emma, but he'd also been upset. He couldn't say what his birth mother saw in Killian Jones. He was everything she stood against when she came to Storybrooke thirteen years ago: Selfish, vain, rude, a liar, a bully...it was a long list.

He'd put up with it for the few weeks they dated because Henry was just happy to be back in Storybrooke at first, and then later, he just wanted his mother to have a fair shot at her own happy ending. Only the longer it went on, the more Henry noticed his mother wasn't...his mother, anymore. She rarely went anywhere without Hook, and as selfish as it sounded, even Henry took a back seat to her "True Love" by the time they got married.

And for awhile, the marriage was stable. If you could call it that. Emma did most of the work in the relationship from Henry's point of view, Hook just sort of coasted along on her reputation and affection. Cracks were starting to surface from the pressure on Emma to be the...the good partner, Henry supposed, the one that was the moral compass and the one to smooth over their arguments.

They'd had a fight that sent Emma to Regina's house for the night while Henry was there. She had dinner with them and while she started out distracted, she came around. Like a weight had fallen off her shoulders. Henry had slipped off to bed and eavesdropped on the stairs while his mothers sat downstairs with two glasses of Regina's cider. Yeah, he was fifteen at the time, but eavesdropping was still a very convenient way of staying in the loop. Emma had been talking about getting an getting some space, some time to clear her head...

Only then, a week later, Emma came back holding Hook's hand to say she was pregnant.

Obviously pregnancy was more complicated than this, (and not to mention rarely up to the man's part past a donation,) but sometimes Henry wondered if Hook had knocked his mother up on purpose just to keep her trapped with a child. He doubted it, if only because Emma was the one that did the all work, _again_.

Take for instance, right now. After the customer had left, Henry realized how odd Emma sounded on the phone, and realized she must've caught that cold that was going around, too. So, Friday afternoon, he picked two cups of hot soup from Granny's and made a housecall. He knocked on the door and recieved no intial response. Maybe a surprise wasn't such a good idea. His key wouldn't work anymore, since he knew the locks had been changed. Couldn't pinpoint if the pirate had done it or if it was because Cleo had been trying to pull out her first baby tooth with the "tie a string to the door" method and goofed up the knob...

Speaking of, Cleo's little face appeared in a first-floor window for a moment, and then vanished. Henry heard the thunder of small feet and the scraping of the locks, and she had the door flung wide open. Henry would never accept Hook as a replacement father, but Cleo was still his baby sister, even if they weren't close since he moved out.

"Hi Henry! Whatcha doin'?" she chirped. She sounded stuffy, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her Disney Princess pajamas. Small wonder Emma had caught her cold, wasn't it? Cute little petrie dish.

"I brought you and Mom some soup, have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Nope," Cleo looked over her shoulder, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Mommy's sleeping. I didn't wanna wake her up."

"Ah," Henry nodded, lowering his voice, too. "C'mon, let's go find you a bowl and spoon."

Leaving Cleo at the kitchen table with her bowl of soup and a handful of oyster crackers, (the superior soup cracker,) Henry went poking around. The dishes were in the sink, so, despite teasing voices in his ears that sounded suspiciously like Violet and Gold, Henry put them in the dishwasher. After he unloaded the clean dishes. He rinsed out one of those plastic medicinal dosage cups that was lying by the sink with a bottle of Dimetapp cold medicine, and put Emma's soup in a bowl.

He found his mother asleep curled up on the couch, wedged into the corner with her head back. She was snoring, wrapped up in the bathrobe covered in yellow rubber ducks Henry got her years ago as Mother's Day present and her pajamas, her hair scraped back in a half-hearted ponytail. Henry could see why Cleo had left her be, his mother looked exhausted. Still, she needed to eat and hydrate and all that stuff Regina fussed about whenever he was sick, so he lightly poked her with the spoon he brought for her to use.

Twice.

Emma started awake and blinked blearily up at Henry. "Huh? Wha-what? Oh," she sniffled, pressing her fingers on either side of her nose. She sounded like she had a clothespin on her nose, yikes. "Hey kid. What're you doing here?"

"I brought you soup, and an apology for hanging up. How ya feeling?"

"Ugh...like a stopped drain," Emma groaned, but accepted the bowl and spoon. "Thanks."

Henry looked around the living room. Most of the used tissues had been contained in a plastic shopping bag, but a few of Cleo's juice boxes were lying on the floor. There was one half-empty plastic water bottle on the end floor Emma might've been using. Henry made a note to get Cleo to pick up her trash and get her mother another bottle.

"So..." he began. "Got anything that needs doing around here that you can't in your congested state?"

Emma shook her head. "Don't worry about it, we're fine."

"Mmhmm. Anything I can do do?"

"No, no, you don't have to do anything, Henry, it's okay. I just needed a nap."

_Right..._

Well...there was no sense in pushing Emma into letting him do something for her. That sort of negated the point of doing something nice, didn't it? He looked around and shrugged. "Cool. So, maybe I'll just-"

His phone buzzed suddenly. Henry didn't have any idea of who it could be, wondered if maybe Gold was calling, except it was...Henry wasn't familiar with the number, but he thought it might be...

"Hello?"

 _"Hello? Wait..."_ Astrid paused. _"Who is this?"_

"Henry."

_"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry Henry, I was dialing Tink, I must've hit the wrong-Sorry! I'm just so mad-Sorry, I'll just-"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down," Henry stepped away from the couch. "What's going on? Is everything okay?" Astrid was supposed to be on a field trip to the mines today, right? Henry wondered if she was calling because something happened with Garrick.

Astrid made a weird noise like a groan and sigh. _"No, it's not okay. There was a fight and I had to take Opal and the other two home, and Robbi, your mom gave us a ride back to town-I'm sure Belle will tell you all about it later, I just need to get in touch with Tink because I think we're going to be called down to the school after today."_

"Oh...okay...uh, I'll let you get back to it then. Bye."

_"Bye, and sorry again for the misdial!"_

Once Astrid had hung up, Henry stared at the phone in his hand until Emma asked, "What was that about?"

"Uh..."

A fight. Opal and "the other two" had to be Oliver and Garrick, plus Robbi. Regina brought them home, before lunch. Astrid was flustered, and calling Tink, Belle was aware...

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out. I'll see you again tomorrow," Henry promised. He hurried for the door, but paused and stuck his head in the kitchen where Cleo was slurping up a noodle.

"I'm gonna go now, could you do me a favor and make sure Mom drinks plenty of water? You too."

"Okie-dokie," Cleo chirped, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. (Eww.) "Bye Henry!"

"Bye Cleo, see ya tomorrow!"

Probably...depending on how this played out, at least...

* * *

Astrid's mom took her home once they got back to Aunt Regina's house, and Oliver's mom showed up soon to pick him up, too. They'd eaten their lunches at the kitchen table while the grownups walked out the room to talk on the phone, and the cookies Ms. Astrid left might've tasted better if Robbi didn't feel like this was her fault. Somehow...

Archie would probably say that it wasn't. And Robbi figured she'd made enough progress to see it probably wasn't _really_ her fault. But maybe if she'd have been Neal's partner instead of Garrick's, then he and Phil wouldn't have gotten their...their... _knickers in a twist,_ that's what Oliver said it was. But Robbi wanted to walk with Garrick, and she didn't mind holding his hand because he was scared of the tunnels. And it had been really interesting...except for Phil and Neal.

And she was really upset that Tommy hit Oliver. Tommy didn't even have anything to do with the fight that broke out between Oliver and Neal. And Neal called Opal a bitch. Actually, he called her Oliver's bitch, and that seemed worse. Robbi wasn't sure if it was that, or the fighting that had her so upset, but she'd started crying when Mrs. Nolan asked what happened outside. Aunt Regina pulled her to the side and wrapped her arms around her until she got a grip, and asked if Robbi wanted to go home.

And she did; She couldn't be in the same place as Neal right now. She was too confused, and she just wanted to go home, where she was sitting now in her bedroom playing checkers with Garrick.

Garrick had a bruise on his forehead that was sort of a bump now. Opal's mom had checked it with glowing fingers and promised it wasn't anything serious, and gave it a little kiss. (She was a really _nice_ mom, Robbi felt guilty for making fun of her last year when she tumbled off the dock into the water on the last field trip she'd chaperoned.) He beat Robbi two out of the three checker games they'd played so far, so his brain must not have been hurt. Good. If Neal and his friends had hurt anybody permanently, she wasn't sure what she'd do.

Well, actually...she felt sure of one thing.

"I don't think I wanna be friends with Neal anymore."

"Huh?" Garrick looked up from where he'd been contemplating his next move. He'd magicked the red pieces green, (the only magic trick he knew, how to change the colors of things,) and Robbi was playing the black pieces because black could be very pretty. Black cats, her favorite Mary-Janes, chocolate syrup looked sort of black, dark hair was very pretty.

"I don't want to be friends with Neal Nolan anymore," Robbi repeated. "If he doesn't like that I'm friends with you, then he's not a very good friend. I mean...it's like, Opal isn't really my friend, but, she's polite when I want to play with you."

Garrick thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Were you friends with Phil and Tommy?"

"Um, sort of, I dunno..." Robbi thought she was, but Neal would sometimes go off and play with them and say she couldn't. She thought it was because they were playing boy games or something. Once they'd been playing tag and they let Robbi be It. They'd said she had to be It because it was Witch Tag, and her mom was a witch. It made sense... _sorta_... "Not really. No. I think I'll be friends with Ruth still. She's nice."

"Yeah, I guess she is nice. She's got really long hair. Do you think that's how Mrs. Nolan looked as Snow White?"

"My aunt says so, except her eyes are too blue. She said Ruth looks just about like Snow White when she first met her."

"Hmm...y'know, Henry's supposed to have a book with the whole story in it. Do you think it has pictures of everybody?" Garrick wondered. "I think I'd like to see that. Especially if there's a picture of Oliver's dad. My mom has some record albums with guys in leather and frizzy hair...I really hope he didn't look like that. But then, she also says Cleo's dad use to dress like that. Except his hair wasn't curly like the Captain Hook you see here on Disney stuff."

"He'd look stupid with a handlebar mustache," Robbi wrinkled her nose. "I dunno, they dressed different there. Mum still has some pointy hats, and my aunt has a lot of her Evil Queen dresses in her vault, but those are all really pretty."

Garrick jumped two of Robbi's pieces and picked them off the board. "Hmm...if we lived in the old world, does that mean that you'd be princess?"

"I don't think so...Mum says she grew up in Oz, in a cottage. And I think Daddy lived in the woods most of the time, being Robin Hood and all." Robbi wasn't sure why the Wicked Witch and Robin Hood had a baby, Mum didn't talk about Daddy, and she always changed the subject if Robbi tried to ask. Maybe she missed him like Aunt Regina did...but Mum never looked sad, really. "She says I'm lucky that I had her, because the lady she thought was her mum died, and Cora gave her up so she could be a queen."

"Well, I think you'd be a princess anyway," Garrick hummed. "Princess of Oz or something, maybe, since Prince Charming was a shepherd, and Cinderella married a prince. I wonder if I'd have to live in a tulip with Mom, or get to stay in Grandpa's house."

"Can you shrink?"

"I'm not sure, I've never tried it."

"Then probably your grandpa's house."

"Yeah...ooh! King me!"

* * *

Around noon, Henry burst into the Sheriff's station just as David's cell phone rang. He was alone in the station since Killian went out to grab some lunch. Well, alone with Snow on one end of the phone and Henry standing in front of him in a charcoal gray suit and a tie decorated with tiny little books. And a rather stern look on his face that made him look like his other grandfather.

"Gimme a minute," he asked, answering the phone. "Yes?"

_"Neal was in a fight at the mines with Oliver Gold, well, one of Neal's friends and one of Opal's friends started it and-Oh god, this day has just been a mess. Blue cancelled the fairies part because there were some...some other issues than the fighting."_

"Like...what?"

_"Magic! The kids were fighting, and then everyone in the mine passed out. Blue looked at the crystals in the minecart with us and she says someone used magic, and she refused to do the demonstration without looking into it further."_

"Wait, wait," David frowned. "They were fighting and then someone just...just put you all to sleep? Who?"

_"We don't know. Robbi, Oliver, Leroy's daughter Opal and Garrick Booth all went home once we got out the mines. Regina needed to get Robbi home, and Astrid just took the other three. I'll probably have to get everyone together and talk about what happened, but it's the magic thing that's worrying me. I mean, most of the kids fighting are either True Love children, or have magic parents. Blue's going to start looking into it."_

"Uh-huh..." David glanced up at Henry. "Snow, I'm gonna have to call you back. Let's talk about it when we're all home tonight, okay?"

 _"Right, right,"_ Snow agreed. _"I'm taking everyone home now, I'll see you later."_

"Okay, bye."

David glanced up to Henry as he set the phone down. "Is this about the mines?"

"Something like that. Astrid was trying to get in touch with Tinker Bell, and she was pretty upset. So...what happened?"

"A fight, of some kind." David shrugged. "I'm not sure really, but I do know that it ended with some kind of magic accident. Snow said they were all knocked out for half an hour. Look, if Neal started something...I've been trying to get through to him about this antagonizing thing, but obviously I have to get with Snow to sort it out. She said something about getting the parents together, but I'll bring it up tonight when I get the whole story."

Henry's stern expression softened. "Thanks. So...magic?"

"Magic."

"Huh...well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."

What had Snow said? True Love children, half-fairies, son of the Dark One...Robbi was Zelena's daughter...yeah. Some sort of magic was bound to happen eventually. It just would have been nice if it hadn't happened in the middle of a fight on a field trip.

"So," Henry glanced around the office. "Where's Hook?"

"Out getting lunch."

"Did he go home?"

"No, I don't think so, why?"

Speak of the pirate and he shall appear. Killian came walking through the doors with a paper bag from Granny's about then. It felt like a switch had been flipped, then, and David was reminded of two cats squaring off: Henry's shoulders tensed beneath his suit coat, and Killian's eyes swept him over in a critical manner. The first one to break their staring contest was Henry, who turned back towards David and nodded.

"Thanks Gramps, I'll see you later."

"Right...uh, bye Henry."

Things had been... _ugly_ , between Henry and Killian since Henry moved out of his mothers' houses and into Gold's. There had been a big fight in the yard, not to mention tension from the pregnancy scare, that Emma was still working on. It was obvious that, barring a miracle, Henry and his stepfather would never get along, and that it was a waste of time hoping otherwise. The best they could do was be civil. Usually.

Henry him by with something like a dirty look that was matched by Killian, and David decided "civil" was a very broad term...

"What did he want?" Killian asked, nodding his head at the shut door.

"Just some...trouble with the field trip today. A fight."

"Huh...so," Killian put the paper bag on the desk and drew out a foil-wrapped sandwich. "Was it the Crocodile's son?"

David pursed his lips. "No, Neal was involved too. Their friends, Robbi. It's a bit of a mess."

"Hmm. If you ask me, trouble follows that boy around like a shadow." Killian scoffed and unwrapped his sandwich. He was still one of the few people convinced that Gold must have been behind the Black Cauldron despite all the evidence stacked against Zelena. And that, therefore, Oliver Gold must be just as bad as his father. David tolerated Killian Jones as the father of Emma's child and her husband, but honestly, he couldn't really give a crap about the pirate's opinions after his behavior in the past eight months.

"Well," he smiled, reaching for his own sandwich. "It's a good thing I didn't ask you, isn't it?"

* * *

Leroy had never wanted to punch a fairy so much in all his life.

The Blue Fairy had arrived with two minion-fairies and completely taken over. She'd asked Neal, Phil, and Tommy a dozen questions to ascertain if they had caused the accident or not. They'd announced they weren't going to do the fairy dust demonstration after all, and once she decided that the three boys weren't responsible, Leroy got the distinct impression that she was smug about it.

Then she came around to Leroy, dressed in that austere sweater and below-the-knee skirt that had nothing in common with the little sparkly blue number she used to wear in the old world, and that holier-than-thou look on her face. She smiled, and Leroy felt distinctly unsafe.

"Snow tells me your daughter was one of the children involved in the accident," she began, and she said _'your daughter'_   like she meant  _'your ugly dog'_ , and didn't that rankle. "Where is she?"

"Not here." Leroy replied flatly.

Blue raised a finely groomed brow. "Why not?"

"'Cause I'm less worried about a one-off magical nap, and more worried about my kid's well-being."

"That's precisely why we need to figure out which child caused the accident, so that their powers don't grow out of control."

"Oh, and you'd just love if it was Opal, wouldn't you?" Leroy snorted. "The girl who's parents you tried everything to keep apart. Proof that a fairy and dwarf can love-"

"I hardly call producing a child an act of _love_ ," the fairy chieftan sniffed. "Which brings me to my next question, where are Robin Mills and Oliver Gold?"

A spark of anger lit Leroy's chest, but he thought he did well in not reaching out and strangling the Blue Fairy at that moment. "They're with Opal...as in, not here."

"I cannot stress how important it is that we find which child is responsible for this accident-"

"And I _cannot stress_ how much I don't care what your opinion is. If you wanna be there when everybody gets together to address how to stop three little bullies from terrorizing anymore, sure, but if your just gonna stand there drooling over the thought of dragging some poor kid off from their parents, then go to hell!"

Snow trotted up then, looking slightly alarmed. Her attempt to defuse the situation was to, in fact, invite Blue to come to the school on Monday afternoon to sit in on their conference. Well it got the Blue Fairy to stop hounding him, so sure, why not?

Doc gave Leroy a ride back to town and dropped him off outside his house. It was a nice, solidly built little structure, better than his shitty one-bedroom apartment had been. The first thing he'd done when he and Astrid started planning for her to leave the convent was find a better place. He settled on a two bedroom place in a less seedy part of Storybrooke, which had served them well until they moved here when Opal was about four. She'd been delighted at the time because it was an equal distance from the library and Gold's house, so she was always the same time away from "Oliver's houses".

Peter and Joseph were a bit quiet when they came up to him in the house. (Apparently, Mommy asked them to "be a little quiet" because their sister had a bad day.) One grabbed each of Leroy's hands leading him up the stairs to Opal's bedroom, where Astrid and Opal were sitting on the bed. Opal had stripped off her coat, vest, and boots, and Astrid had sort of smoothed her hair.

Ah, that reminded him.

Leroy picked Opal's hat out of his coat pocket and sat on the other side of her, dropping it on her lap. "There you go. I found that in the mines, thought you might want it back."

"Thanks Dad," Opal smiled wanly. Peter and Joseph wandered over, and she tugged the pink hat down on Peter's head over his eyes.

Shoving the hat up enough to see, Peter climbed on the bed and onto Leroy's lap. "So didja get sick?"

"Didja get hurt?" Joseph asked, climbing onto the bed near Astrid. "What happened?"

"I got in a fight."

"Didja win?" The twins asked in unison.

"Not really."

Leroy rolled his eyes, tugging the hat back down over Peter's eyes. "Alright, so. Phil and Neal were riding you, because your half dwarf, and half fairy. Is that how it was?"

"Yes sir," Opal nodded slowly, looking down at her fingers twisting on her lap. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, Opal, no," Astrid said softly, wrapping her arm around Opal's sturdy shoulders. "That's nothing you have to apologize for. We just wish you would have said something sooner so we could help."

Opal hesitated. "I didn't...I didn't want you to be mad...an' I didn't want to ruin the field trip, but I guess that sort of...failed."

"Oh honey, why would we be mad?"

"W-well...well 'cause, I dunno, like...'cause...'cause they said awful things about you..."

Astrid sighed, pressing a kiss to Opal's mussed brown hair. "Opal. Do you know what the Blue Fairy called me when I decided to leave the convent? A selfish fool throwing her life away. That's what the most powerful fairy, symbol of goodness and light, said to me when I decided to follow my own path. So don't you worry about what three little twits with big mouths have to say about me."

Leroy snorted, hiding his smile against Peter's head. That was a rather polite and sanitized version of what the fairies had to say about one of their own going off to marry a dwarf. True enough though. However, that did remind him...

"Speaking of, Snow said she's calling everyone together Monday to talk about this. The Blue Fairy decided she had to be there."

Astrid seemed to pick up on what that really meant, and frowned. There was unexplained magic, and Blue was sticking her nose in it. That meant...trouble. Lots of trouble, potentially.

"Is this because of that shockwave thing?" Opal asked quietly.

"Yeah...ah, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that?" Leroy asked. "You're not in trouble, but that's what she wants to know. Who did it."

Opal shook her head. "It wasn't me. I was too busy trying to land a hit on Phil."

"Um, now, I'm not saying you're wrong for defending yourself of course," Astrid interrupted. "But you really shouldn't make a habit of hitting people."

"I can't make any promises. Um...so...why's the Blue Fairy wanna know who did it?"

Joseph chirped, "She's a Blue Ferret!"

"And she's nosy!" Peter agreed, tugging off Opal's hat at last.

"And bossy!"

"And a busy bee."

"Busy _body_ , y'mean."

"Yeah, and she's mean too."

"Okay, okay," Astrid wrapped Joseph up in her arms, brushing her fingers over his little white forelock. "We get it, she's not very nice. And you're right, but, that's quite enough of that for now. Now, how about you and your brother go wash your hands, and help me start dinner? I feel like spaghetti, and I need two helpers."

Peter slid off of Leroy's lap and Joseph darted out the door behind him. Once they were gone, Opal glanced between her parents nervously. "What's she want, really?"

Astrid's eyes met his. She didn't look afraid...exactly. But she had the same nervous look that Opal did...like she was very well on her way to being scared. There was probably three people outside the convent that knew what the Blue Fairy was really capable of. Her, Tink, and Gold. And Leroy did believe that Opal didn't do it. She'd never shown any signs of being magical, and that was good news for them. But, that also left Garrick, Oliver, and Robbi...

And Blue wasn't exactly fond of any of them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to administer thoughts of love and warm blankets to the characters you like in the comments, and to your right are potential whacking sticks for the characters you aren't so crazy about. Do feel free to use those as well. :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5000+ hits, 175 kudos, 22 bookmarks, and a great big thank you! Have a little awkward Rumple/Belle and some father-son stuff!
> 
> (Y'know...before the premiere of this crapshoot.)

Rumpelstiltskin had poured all of his power into the Black Cauldron. Not a shred of his curse remained, even the poisoned black spots in his heart had lightened. He was completely mortal, ordinary. One could even apply adjectives such as weak, powerless, meek, impotent, feeble, crippled, etc., etc., and so forth. However...he still felt the burst of magic. Couldn't explain it, but he _felt_ it.

Even though he shouldn't have...

Then Henry came home early, and Rumpelstiltskin was distracted. His grandson said something about Emma being left to tend to her sick daughter while being ill herself, that was the most likely cause of his odd mood. Rumpelstiltskin suspected it was the fact that certain _pirates_ weren't at home that was the actual problem.

Then, at about half past two, there was a knock on the door. It could only be Belle dropping off Oliver. Although...maybe Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been the only one to feel that magic burst? Maybe it was the Charmings here to beat down his door. That hadn't happened in nearly a year, long overdue really.

His first guess was correct though: It was just Belle and Oliver. Although...that wouldn't explain the bruise on their son's face.

"What in the world happened?" he blurted, reaching out to touch the dark reddish mark. There was a scrape, too, on his forehead that was cleaned already. His coat was dusty, but his face and the clothes underneath were clean. What the hell?

"Um..." Oliver swallowed. "Stuff..."

"I know we said we'd talk on Saturday, but...I think we need to talk a bit now..." Belle said, nudging their son forwards.

Within five minutes, they were alone in the house. Henry had come out, and as he'd been planning to head to the grocery store with the list Rumpelstiltskin had made, he grabbed Oliver and slipped out the door with a smile and a brief greeting to Belle. Although she'd started off rather confident, once Henry and Oliver left, she got a bit quiet and still. But so did he, _so..._

Falling back on manners, Rumpelstiltskin offered her a cup of tea.

So, they ended up sitting at the kitchen island with cups of tea, Belle stirring her usual ungodly amounts of milk and sugar into her cup. She should have just poured herself a cup of milk and added the tea. He'd teased her about that plenty of times before, but it seemed inappropriate at the moment.

Once Belle had her tea, she related what happened at the mines: In a nutshell, Phil Briars and Neal Nolan had been little pricks, bullying Oliver's friend Opal. Bullying was really a light word for what sounded more along the lines of racism, honestly. Neal had also done some poking at Garrick Booth, who Robbi Mills had chosen as part of that "buddy-system" nonsense. (What did it matter if two kids were together? They'd just get lost together then!) The other shoe had dropped when Phil put his hands on Opal.

You could make a case that it wasn't _copping a feel_ , and therefore didn't deserve such a harsh rebuke, but Rumpelstiltskin was of the mind that if the boy didn't learn better now he never would. And then it dissolved into a brawl when Tommy Herman popped out the throng and socked Oliver in the face.

Hence the bruise.

And then...

"Magic?"

"Yes," Belle nodded. "They aren't sure who did it. Phil and Neal's parents are True Love, Robbi is a Mills, Opal and Garrick's mothers are fairies, and Oliver is your son, if not True Love. The only child I think we can rule out is Tommy."

The tale of Cinderella was a pretty one, but one lovestruck prince and a social-climbing scullery maid hardly made True Love. They coexisted well, but at least that was one possible culprit ruled out. That did leave six other children...but there was a bright spot.

"Dark magic and fairy dust don't mix, so," Rumpelstiltskin hummed thoughtfully. "It's less of a disaster than it could be."

Belle's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Oh, that is good news."

"Indeed. I believe it would be an understatement to say that emotions were running high, and raw magic does respond to emotions best..." That would also explain that funny feeling from earlier in the day to perfection. "The only real question is which child had enough latent talent to floor a class of sixteen children plus their teacher, a contigent of dwarves, a fairy, and Regina. Actually, she was likely as surprised by anyone, her defenses are very weak when she's surprised, so scratch that..."

"Is there...is there anyway you can tell who did it?" Belle asked hesitantly.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. "Not unless you repeat the accident. Magic is a very fluid medium, everyone has a different style, a different feel. Obviously Garrick would be the easiest to discern since he does that...sneeze thing. How is Mrs. Nolan taking it?"

"I'm not sure, but according to Astrid she was in denial."

Of course she was.

"Well, if Snow does organize a meeting with the parents, I'll let you know. It's rather overdue, really, I shouldn't have waited until now to step in," Belle sighed, looking down at her cup of tea. "Oliver kept telling me Neal was being awful and I just...I just told him to ignore him and he'd stop. That's what you're supposed to do with a bully. Just ignore him, don't let him see you're hurt, don't feed the troll. Right?"

"In my experience, bullies just want to feel better about themselves by making you feel worse," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "If you ignore them, they just try harder. They don't go away until you show them you can't be pushed around anymore."

"And ignoring them, not letting them under your skin, that's one way to do that."

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed his first response. "That's...one way. Not always the most effective, though. Obviously."

Belle looked like she might argue, but, then sighed instead. It would be a bit difficult to disagree given their situation, certainly. Oliver was a a quiet, polite boy. He wasn't as shy as Rumpelstiltskin recalled being as a child, but, that might be because he'd grown up in an environment where he was loved unconditionally and not dragged from one town to the next by a selfish grifter. If anyone could ignore a bully, it would be Oliver.

And Neal had Charming blood in him. His father lacked tact, and his mother lacked sense. That was dangerous combination, the lad probably couldn't take a hint if it smacked him betwixt the eyes. Subtlety was lost on most of them, he could only assume it was partly Regina's raising and his own blood that saved Henry's mind.

He didn't say that aloud, though, because Belle would likely disagree. Certainly the most charming family in town had their good qualities...but child-rearing was hardly one of them.

"Something else has to be done," Belle conceded. "I'll have to get on that, I suppose. Depending how deep in denial Snow is, I might have to push her to call in the other parents. Would you like to...to I dunno, come to that?"

It was an...interesting question. On the one hand, he despised the idea of letting three little entitled brats get away with harming three nonconforming children, especially on the whims of a negligent teacher. On the the other, the idea of being powerless, trapped in a room with people from the old world that knew and hated him no matter what path he chose, was a nightmare. However...

He had braved the Duke's fortress, while on fire, just for a chance to save Baelfire from being murdered on the front lines at the hands of Ogres.

A teacher-parent meeting to correct some bullies from harming his son was something far easier.

"I would."

"Alright. I'll let you know," Belle nodded, tugging on the sleeve of her coat. "So...um...so how are you?"

Last night he'd woken up from a nightmare at four in the morning. He couldn't recall what it was, just that he'd been shocked into wakefulness, a lingering sense of unease prickling at his mind that kept him awake until he had to use the bathroom, and by then there was no point going back to bed, so he'd "started the day" downstairs. His attempts at sitting outside on the porch had been unsuccessful for the total five minutes Hopper suggested, leaving him feeling both trapped and useless, that was always a pleasant combination. He couldn't finish his lunch today because his stomach was twisting in knots, wondering what caused that magic feeling, and why he felt it when he'd lost his curse...

"Not badly," he shrugged carefully. "You know. All things considered."

"Glad to hear it," Belle's smile softened. "So, um, are we still on for tomorrow? I mean...th-there's more I think we have to talk about, about this school business. But I don't want to...I mean you should know, but if you have other things-"

"I am available."

He wasn't a very scintillating conversationalist these days, he didn't go anywhere or do anything except try and figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with his life. Mainly by coming up with reasons to continue living it, and trying not to let the anxiety or depression talk him out of those reasons. Having an active role in this issue might be a decent distraction. Especially if it would get the Charmings to reign in their unbearable little hellion.

"Ah, that's good, good...good."

For three more minutes, they stood awkwardly silent in the kitchen save for quiet slurps and the clink of saucers. Belle drained her milky, sugary tea first, and gave him something of an apologetic smile.

"I should go now, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine, I've got some...things to do."

"Oh, oh I'm sorry, was I keeping you from-"

"No, just some chores-"

"D'you need any help or-"

"I've got it, it's alright, nothing I can't handle."

Belle nodded smoothing her shirt as she stood. "Good, good, so...I'll call you about that meeting when I know more."

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'll just..." she nodded out the doorway. "See myself out...bye."

"Bye. Have a nice weekend."

"Oh. Thank you, you too," she agreed, swiftly exiting the kitchen, leaving behind nothing but an empty teacup on the counter.

Well...that certainly could've gone better...or worse...god only knows how awkward lunch was going to be.

* * *

David had talked Killian into manning the station by himself so he could get home an hour or so earlier. It hadn't been much of a hard sell, David just hoped he didn't shut down as soon as he left. It was Friday. Somebody might need to be called down to deal with Keith Nottingham and his kind if they'd started celebrating the weekend early.

But right now, David's family took priority.

When he got home, it was about three in the afternoon, usually the time school was letting out on a normal day. Ruth was wearing her school uniform still, sitting at the kitchen table with homework spread around her. Neal had a few worksheets, too, probably related to his field trip today.

"Hi Daddy!" Ruth beamed. "I got first place in a surprise spelling bee today! Mr. Egbert gave me a box of colored pencils as a prize."

"What kind of prize is that?" Neal wrinkled his nose.

"Well for one thing, I like coloring. For another, they're Crayola. That's the good stuff."

"Hmm. Fair enough."

"Speaking of fair, Neal," David cleared his throat. "I got a call from your mother today. So would you mind telling me exactly what happened at the mines today?"

Neal looked down at his worksheet. "Uh...well...um..."

David was content to wait. Just as long as Neal talked, eventually. When he and Snow usually had to deal out discipline, she tended to fill in the silences with questions, but David was a bit more patient. It would seem that Ruth was more like her mother, though.

"He got in a fight," Ruth supplied, twirling her pencil. "With Oliver Gold."

"No I didn't!" Neal protested. "Opal started it, she knocked down Phil-"

"Why?" David asked. "What did he do to her?"

"Nothing."

That was too quick an answer. "Uh-huh...well what did he say?"

" _Nothing_ ," Neal replied again, raising his chin. "We were just talking about fairies and she got mad."

David sat down at the table folding his hands on the flat surface. Everything about Neal was defensive: The tilt of his jaw, the look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders. He was ready to declare his innocence against everyone, and, there was really no need for that. David liked to think he was a very calm, reasonable father. Maybe too calm. Because for his son to react like this, he was really overcompensating for something.

Opal...fairies...hmm. Ah.

"You wouldn't have, say," David shrugged. "Been asking Opal if she's got fairy magic or something like that, would you? Wings maybe?"

Neal faltered a moment. "No. Well, Phil was. I just asked if she had a dwarf axe at home, 'cause her dad said all dwarves get an axe that gives them their name."

"Neal, that was in the old world. Here in Storybrooke, everyone has a human body."

"So...she's not a dwarf? Or a fairy?"

Not _quite_ the point he was looking to make. "No, she isn't. Her parents are, but Opal is just Opal. And it's rude of you to ask questions like that. Now why were you fighting with Oliver, if Phil and Opal were fighting?"

"Because he shoved me."

"Well why did you shove him back? You could have told your mother, or walked away-"

"But he shoved me first-"

"Neal Cassidy Nolan, Monday afternoon we'll discuss what everyone did or did not do," David said firmly. "Right now we're talking about what you did. Now I know for a fact that the last time you got in a fight with Oliver Gold, you started it. I want to know what you said that made Oliver push you, and I want to know why you felt the need to say it. Or just why you and Neal felt the need to act like that."

Shifting in his seat, the fight bled out of Neal and he looked down at his homework again. "I..." he hesitated. "I-"

"David?" Snow called from somewhere else in the house. "Is that you?"

Neal perked up a bit when Snow came into the room. Something about that struck a nerve in David, but he couldn't put it into words, really. He and Snow usually tackled these sort of issues together, though, so, he turned to her.

"We're talking about the mines."

"Oh?"

"Why'd Phil pick on Opal?" Ruth asked curiously. "I thought you made fun of him for having a crush on her?"

"Well...yeah. But that's just because she's mean."

"Right," David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Because girls are so mean when they and their heritage are being made fun of in front of everyone."

"We weren't making fun of her..." Neal sulked. "We were just asking questions."

"Neal, you can't expect Opal to be nice to boys who steal her things and make fun of her on the playground," Snow sighed. "I keep telling you not to just go along with whatever Phil's doing, you have to make your own choices."

"The _right_ choices," David emphasized. "Namely the ones that don't led to fisticuffs with other people."

"But I didn't do it! Tommy hit Oliver first-"

"Why?" Ruth tilted her head. "I thought it was just you and Phil."

Her brother glared at her in a way that David didn't like one bit. "You weren't there, what do you know? Tommy was just looking out for me."

David pressed a hand over his face. He'd been trying, gently, since their trip to the hospital last week to start unraveling the cause of this behavior in Neal. He wasn't sure how they didn't notice how arrogant and overly proud he'd become, how quick to place blame on others. The stories they'd always told him about their family tended to run in a very "we're always right" vein. Maybe it was just something that grew out of control.

"Be that as it may," Snow said gently. "This is still something I don't want to see happen again. Monday, we're going to get all the parents together, Tommy and Phil's parents, Garrick's mother, Regina, Opal's parents and Belle, and we're going to have a long talk with you kids about it. Okay? And Blue's gonna be there, too, so we can get to the bottom of this...magic thing."

Ruth's eyes widened and a tiny grin lit up her face. "Magic! You didn't tell me you used magic Neal!"

"'Cause I didn't," Neal shrugged. "I'll bet it was Garrick. He always messes up everything."

David frowned, glaring at his son. "Neal. Come Monday, I want you to apologize to all three of those kids."

Neal stared at him like he was speaking in a foreign tongue now.

"Why?" he blurted.

"David-" Snow put a hand on his shoulder.

"Because you owe Opal an apology for ruining a field trip that was very special to her. And you already owe Oliver an apology for beating him up two weeks ago, but now you most certainly do. And you owe Garrick an apology because I'm willing to bet you've treated him poorly too, if not today than certainly for some other time."

"But Dad," Neal looked more distressed than he should by this turn of events. "It was their fault-"

"You keep saying that, but I really don't believe it."

"That's not fair!" Neal whined. "Oliver didn't have to apologize!"

"That's between Oliver and his parents, not me and you-"

" _David_ ," Snow frowned. "You two finish your homework, and then go wash up for dinner. David, can I talk to you for a moment?"

David barely kept from groaning when Snow pulled him into the kitchen and fixed him with The Look. That was the expression she always pulled when she was displeased or disagreed with something. It was rarely turned on him, of course, but it always signaled the start of a long, stubborn argument when it did.

"What was all that about?" she asked. Well, technically it was asked. Her tone was too soft to be a demand. Technically.

"Snow, this can't keep happening. You teach them in school, do you honestly see Oliver Gold as the type to start a physical confrontation?" David spread out his hands. "And I know you put a stop to Alexandra calling Robbi a bastard when she was in you class a few years ago, how is that any different than Phil and Neal pestering Opal about how much of a dwarf or fairy she is?"

"It's not like they were trying to hurt her, David, they were just a little thoughtless about it. And Oliver doesn't start fist-fights, but he also pushes other children. I don't know if he's looking for attention or trying to prove something, but he's not exactly easy to get along with."

"For god's sake Snow, he's had the worst year of his life and you expect him to be perfectly normal after the past few weeks he's had now?"

Snow's mouth twisted and her eyebrows pressed together in a look of disappointment. "I know he's had a rough time, but that's no excuse for starting fights-"

"I'm not excusing anyone!" David cried. "Especially _our_ son. Snow, we can't keep letting Neal take first priority in any trouble he gets in. As a parent, I get it, but you're their teacher too. If it were any other child but Neal that was in that fight today, would you say it was Opal didn't deserve an apology?"

"That isn't fair David!"

"I think it is, even if you don't want to admit it."

"You're not a teacher, you don't have any room to tell me how to do my job!"

"I'm not telling you how to do your job, I'm telling you that I'm going to be there Monday for this meeting and I'm going to hear what's really going on because you're obviously too blind to be responsible here!"

Oh boy...

Snow narrowed her eyes and snapped her mouth shut. David could almost see the Walls of an Angry Wife slam down around her before she turned away and stormed out the living room. David groaned, forseeing a lengthy silent treatment in his future for a few poorly chosen words.

Poorly chosen, though honest...

* * *

Mama had left before they got back from the grocery store, but Oliver had been expecting that. Still, counting this lunch they were supposed to all have tomorrow, that was more interaction than his parents had together in two days than they'd had for most of last month.

 _Weird_.

Speaking of weird, in the grocery store, Henry had run into Regina and Robbi. They were buying some stuff, and she and Henry talked a little, (why do grownups _always_ talk in the grocery store?) and obviously he didn't like hearing how Mrs. Nolan had acted. And Regina didn't like hearing Henry's other mother, Mrs. Jones, had been left behind at home with Cleo while they were both sick. Tomorrow while Mama was over for lunch, Henry would pick up Regina and they'd go over there to check up on her and stuff. That seemed nice.

Oliver didn't know much about Mrs. Jones. Most of the time she was either watching over Cleo and her younger brothers and sister at Charming Family gatherings, or she was standing by her husband. Really, Oliver didn't have much of an opinion about her. She was boring and quiet and always looked like she was being held together by the plain ponytail she kept her long blonde hair in, and not much else. She didn't like Papa, either, which was one of the reasons Oliver persisted in calling her "Mrs. Jones," because she always got this little twitch under her eye when Papa said it.

Still, she was Henry's mom, and even when Oliver got irritated with Mama, he didn't want anything _bad_ to happen to her, so it made sense for Henry to check up on his sick mother.

Papa was a little quiet tonight, though. They'd made some molasses cookies that baked while they ate chicken alfredo for dinner, and once Oliver washed up and put on his PJs, he and Papa sat on the sofa and did some knitting while Henry got out a notebook and did some writing. It must've been a draft, since he wasn't using the Author's pen that looked a bit like a magic wand and a fountain pen had a magical writing tool of a baby. Because it was so quiet, Henry'd also turned on the TV and put it on a channel playing some black-and-white movie Oliver didn't recognize immediately, so paid it no mind.

He'd come to the end of his fourth knitted block and managed to cast off the end without unravelling anything, when he glanced up at Papa.

Papa knit so fast that Oliver wondered if he'd need three centuries and change of practice before he was that good. He had already started work on a new blanket, made from this yarn that was different shades of yellow, orange, and white all blended along on one strand of yarn. It looked very bright and cheerful, but it didn't quite match the distant, unfocused look on Papa's face. His hands moved quickly, seemingly without any concious decisions on his part, but he looked miles away.

Archie had said that Papa's depression could sort of come and go, didn't he? Something like that, yeah. And since he got out the hospital, Papa seemed mostly normal again.

He was still quiet, still hadn't left the house as far as Oliver knew. He didn't have those dark circles under his eyes really, and had shaved regularly so he always looked neat. The stubble on Papa's face was just starting to show now, a _five o'clock shadow_ is what he'd heard it called once, but it was a quarter to eight so it was really late in the day. Everything seemed fine, but something still made Oliver feel funny about that. Probably because, lately, the better something looked, the worse it would turn out.

At ten o'clock, Papa put aside his knitting and ushered Oliver upstairs. Bedtime. He had to brush his teeth _and_ floss, then crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Papa hadn't tucked Oliver in since he was eight and decided he was grownup enough to not need that, but he felt a little bit better when Papa adjusted the comforter a little and smoothed some invisible wrinkles away. What he did do was kiss the crown of Oliver's head and mutter, "Sleep well, m'boy."

"Night Papa," Oliver nodded quietly, but Papa didn't leave yet. And he didn't want him to, either. "Papa...why does the Blue Fairy hate us?"

Mama had tried to say that the Blue Fairy didn't hate anyone, that she was a good person, but Oliver didn't think she believed it entirely herself. Not when the Blue Fairy looked down at Oliver like he was some weird critter. She looked even further down on Opal and Garrick.

Papa sighed, shifting until he was lying down on top of the blankets by Oliver.

"She has many reasons to hate _me_ , I suppose. I was the Dark One, I was not a very good person, I...had a rather unfortunate habit of disintergrating a few fairies in my darkest days and stealing wands as a hobby. I was her opposite...among other things. But I find that wherever there's an injustice in the world, a fairy isn't far away. Not all of them, of course. Some like Tinker Bell really do mean the best. Astrid is another example, but you notice the Blue Fairy doesn't count them in her ranks. She's a very...she's a very narrow-minded sort of person. What doesn't measure up to her standards, or fit in with her views, is incorrect and must be changed."

Then, Papa was quiet for so long that he might have fallen asleep, until he turned his head, butting foreheads gently with Oliver.

"There's only been one child I've harmed, no matter how indirectly," Papa whispered in that low voice that meant he was thinking sad thoughts about Bae. "And I vowed it would never happen again. I'll protect you, and any other child Blue decides needs to fit her view. For now, you need to get some sleep. You've had a long day, and we've got a day of shortbread and schemes ahead of us, aye?"

And that did make Oliver feel a little better.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep. He just knew eventually his eyes got heavy and closed, and Papa had been there warm and solid. Then, when he opened his eyes again, it was morning and Papa was gone. But Oliver could hear the tapping of his cane out in the hall making his way towards the bathroom, and that was alright.

That was very much right, enough that Oliver drifted back to sleep until Henry knocked on the door and said, "Hey sleepyhead, if you want pancakes you better get moving!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well 6x11 didn't encourage that feeling of violent protest I usually feel on Sundays! :D It actually gave me an idea for much, much later, but for now: Rumbelle + Oliver lunch, Emma gets checked up on, and Henry is displeased with a lot of things.

After dropping Oliver off, Belle had taken a long, hot bath, even breaking out one of those bath bombs that she saved for special occasions that turned the tub into a fragrant, colorful paradise. She'd dried off, put on the pretty white nightgown she generally wore when she wanted to feel pretty herself, and curled up with a glass of red wine and a box of Russell Stover candies, (which were on sale for Valentines Day just about every where,) to watch Pride and Prejudice.

The one with Colin Firth, which was a more faithful adaptation as far as plot went, but Belle wasn't opposed to the movie adaptation with Kiera Knightley, either. But it didn't have a young Colin Firth, wet and shirtless in roughly two occasions. Shame for them.

Just as Darcy was watching Lizzie walk away from him at the party and eyeing her in a way that made Belle suspect he'd already begun regretting his "barely tolerable" remark, her phone rang.

It was Papa, of course. Belle answered it hesitantly, but believed she'd made the right choice because he sounded rather contrite. Like he might even regret his callous behavior. She'd been willing to forgive him right until he asked if she'd like to have lunch with him tomorrow.

"Not tomorrow, Papa, maybe on Monday?"

 _"Why? Have you got a date?"_ He sounded like he was only half joking, and even then Belle smiled a bit. He'd probably be over the moon if she had an actual date.

"No, I just already made plans."

The line was quite for a second before he asked, _"Belle...you aren't having lunch with him, are you?"_

"Papa. I'm a grown woman-"

_"And you never learn, just like a stubborn child! Belle, if you let him in now, he's only going to break you again, and get that boy into more trouble-"_

"Oliver happens to do much better when his father is in our life, so, goodnight Papa, and don't call me again unless it's with an apology!"

She hung up and felt secure about it for all of fifteen minutes before little voices of doubt started creeping up on her. Which wasn't fair.

She should be able to trust Rumple, especially with this. His limp was visible proof of the lengths he would go to protect his children, and handling bullies was hardly slaying Ogres. (On a physical level, at least.) She was fairly certain that without magic, he couldn't turn people into snails, or rats, and that he wouldn't turn his cane on anyone either way without provocation. The only person she worried about provoking him would either be a blunt Leroy, (though she suspected at the moment Leroy might egg Gold on to turn Phil into a snail if Astrid's account was anything to go by,) or Ashley...and then there was the Blue Fairy.

And that made Belle realize that in her awkwardness and rush to escape yesterday, she might not have been as in-depth about what she was talking Rumpelstiltskin in to as she thought she'd been.

And here she was, bringing hamburgers for them to talk over about it...

Good lord.

She thought that the Cadillac had passed her in town with Henry and perhaps Regina inside it, so she wasn't surprised it was vacant from the driveway. When she knocked on the door, Oliver was the one to open it. He had a smudge of chocolatey-something on the end of his nose, and a smattering of powdered sugar, or perhaps flour, on the sleeves of his red sweater where he'd pushed them up.

"Hi Mama," he smiled, then his eyes fell on the hamburger bag. "Whatcha got there?"

"Hamburgers and onion rings for us, a hamburger and fries for your father," she replied, swiping the chocolate off her son's nose. Mm, frosting. "What have you got there?"

Oliver went a bit cross-eyed trying to see his nose a moment, then smirked painfully like Rumple as he stepped out her way. "Shortbread cookies with chocolate buttercream icing. We've got people-shaped ones, stars, and circles.

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. Would you take this bag to the kitchen please?"

Oliver trotted off with the paper bag, giving Belle a chance to take off her hat and coat. She'd spent almost an hour deciding what to wear, she hadn't had lunch with Rumple in years, and they weren't trying to "make things work" this time. Eventually, she'd settled on a cozy, cream-colored turtleneck, and simple black skirt passing her knees that swished when she moved, thick dark tights and white ankle booties. She'd scraped her hair back in a braid, refusing to take any special pains with it...and washed the makeup off her face only once out of fear of looking too...pretty. Too flirtatious. She'd ditched lipstick entirely after dithering over red or pink, opting for chapstick and a brush of color to her pale cheeks to replace what faded in the winter, and a dab of mascara.

And she almost washed _that_ off before forcing herself out the door.

She slowly made her way to the kitchen. The air smelled strongly of fresh shortbread, and Belle hadn't expected her eyes to prickle with tears, threatening to spill over her lashes and ruin that damned mascara entirely.

Before it came out how he'd stolen the magic in Storybrooke to try and wake her, Belle had stayed in this house while she was pregnant with Oliver. And had a consistent craving for the shortbread cookies and milk. It was no wonder Oliver couldn't resist the stuff, and Rumple, she later learned, had sent the recipe she favored most to Granny after Belle had moved out so she'd still get the good stuff rather than the dry packaged variety she'd tried making due with.

It hurt more than she ever thought it would to see Rumpelstiltskin taking plates out a cabinet while Oliver was occupied with spreading frosting on a star-shaped cookie. It looked so...natural. She felt like such an intruder at that moment.

It only got slightly worse when Rumple froze when he saw her before placing the three plates on the counter calmly. It was just a split second thing. Belle almost hadn't noticed because she'd been focused on the fact that he had on a light blue shirt that looked to soft-looking to be his usual dress shirt for all it was crisply tucked in, the sleeves rolled up and his navy tie tucked in a gap between the buttons so it wouldn't drag in anything. The gentle color did more for him than the harsh black ever did. She hadn't noticed when he stopped wearing colors, or when he'd started again, but she was still glad.

Enough that she could put on a not-entirely-forced smile and say, "Shortbread?"

Rumple nodded slowly.

"Do you want one Mama?" Oliver asked.

Rumple glanced over his shoulder at their son innocently holding out a frosted star. "I thought we agreed not to eat any shortbread until after lunch?"

"It'd only be half if we split one."

"I know the pair of you two, you'll eat the whole tray by yourselves. No."

"What if we save you some?"

Belle almost giggled, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Well it's a quarter to twelve, how about an early lunch?"

* * *

Oliver tried to think of the last time his parents ate in the same room. Maybe a year ago, before the Black Cauldron...if you counted Granny's Diner as a room.

Hmm.

Mama had said they were having lunch yesterday when she brought him home from the Mills' house, so he assumed it was about the mines, the bullying, and that magic thing. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing Papa was stepping in or not. On the one hand, Papa knew more about magic than anybody. If anybody could figure out what happened, it was him. And if a kid had started the magic, Papa wouldn't want to lock them in the convent like the Blue Fairy might want to do.

Oliver wondered if that would make a boy a priest, then. Or maybe a monk...

"So, aside from the quarry-based quarrel," Papa said, trilling ever-so-slightly on the R's. "How was your field trip going?"

"Pretty good. Did you know the crystals start off as blue, but turn purple when you crush them up? It's a refraction of light or something, like a prism."

"Oh? Interesting. Did you get to see that great big monstrosity they call a grinder?"

"Not the final one, but we saw the first machine. It looks like a dryer and a wood chipper had an ugly, mutant baby, but it worked good. Did you have to help them make it?"

Papa shook his head. "Mechanics are not my cup of tea. The dwarves did come looking around my shop for their equipment. I think all I had was four axes, a lantern, two steins, and a pair of Doc's glasses."

"What's a stein?"

Mama held up her iced tea glass. "It's a mug you drink ale out of, usually with this sort of metal flap of a lid." Oh, _that's_ what you called those things. "I remember when they were building that. They checked out a bunch of mechanical books to try getting everything to meld together properly. I heard Dopey almost lost his right hand the first time they turned it on, but they wouldn't say how."

"I'll bet it was Sneezy. He had a sneezing fit in the mines when he was trying to show where they pull the crystals from the wall."

"That's a safe bet," Papa agreed, swirling his fry in ketchup. "Learn anything else?"

"That dwarves hatch from eggs, but they don't know where the eggs came from. And that the Blue Fairy is a hypocrite because without dwarves she wouldn't have fairy dust, so she really should treat them better than hum-Er, living mining tools."

Papa smirked a little at that. "True enough."

"Don't you already know about fairy dust, Papa?"

"Eh...nothing very practical. I suppose compared to other Dark Ones I dabbled in a broad variety of magic, but fairy dust inherently disagrees with dark magic. It feels...itchy."

Oliver imagined a fairy throwing a glitter-ball at Papa, and him scratching like a dog with fleas. He giggled a little into his glass of lemonade. "So you can't use fairy magic?"

"Well..." Papa hesitated a moment. "Not in the traditional sense. I can, however, use a wand. There's nothingly over special to most fairy wands, it's mostly a conduit. They do have a core, though, that absorbs the cost of magic."

Mama tilted her head. "Do they really? I didn't know that."

Papa snorted, though not at Mama, really. "It's not something they like to be known. It's how a fairy godmother gets around making their little charges pay for their wishes like ordinary magic would demand. I'm not sure what the core is made of, but it absorbs the...karma, I suppose you'd call it, yes. It absorbs the karma so you don't encounter any side effects from your wish later on. All the negativity in the core has to be discharged eventually, usually by hexing someone that crossed them wrong."

"So..." Oliver thought for a moment. "Did you get around the price of magic by making deals?"

Papa nodded. "That's more like paying for a service. For example, before Regina cast the curse that brought everyone to this land, Snow White and her charming husband came to see me to ask me what the Evil Queen was planning. I told them in exchange for the name of their unborn child."

That seemed like a weird trade to Oliver. He thought he'd heard Neal crowing once about how his parents had locked up Rumpelstiltskin in the old world...couldn't Papa have asked them to set him free instead?

Maybe it showed on his face, because Papa smiled and leaned a little closer to Oliver. "Names are very powerful things. Powerful enough to cross into Storybrooke with me, powerful enough to bring back lots of _memories_."

"Like...a loophole, so you remembered you're Rumpelstiltskin?" Oliver smiled slowly.

"Precisely that."

Ah. Now that made much more sense.

Mama was watching them with a funny look on her face, and dropped her eyes quickly to her hamburger when Papa sat up straight again and looked at her. Oliver almost wished Henry was here to talk to, or get things moving along. Mama and Papa obviously couldn't talk to each other, she was looking at her plate, and Papa was looking like he couldn't speak the right language.

"So...what's gonna happen Monday?"

He'd been sat down to parent-teacher conferences before, (and detentions,) but it never felt this heavy. Magic was funny stuff. Some people had it and were celebrated for it, some people had it and were reviled for it. It was kinda the same in his Percy Jackson books: Percy was one of the strongest demigods alive by nature of his being Poseidon's son, he was the Olympians' biggest asset their team had, but some of them were terrified of what he could really do if he tried. But that was a book. This was reality. One that was a lot less fun than a book was, at that...

Papa pressed his lips together. Everything was very quiet for two seconds before he said: "If Rheul Gorm and Mrs. Nolan have any other ideas than addressing this fighting between you children, I'll put a stop to it. You are children, most of you with magical parents or the potential for magic already. You're all young and bright, and if it comes down to it, there are plenty of people in town that can teach any of you to get a grip on any abilities you have that don't involve treating you like lepers. I promise we'll make sure of it."

It was hard not to believe Papa. He looked calm, his brown eyes were serious and clear, not a trace of fear or worry to be found. Papa meant it. And he never broke his word.

"Okay..." Oliver nodded slowly. He glanced at Mama, and she reached over to squeeze his shoulder. She smiled in that way that made everything feel right, and...and maybe it would be. "Okay."

Mama sat back in her seat, picking up and onion ring idlly. She hesitated a moment, and then squared her shoulders, looking directly across the table at Papa.

"Neal is going to be our biggest issue," she said in a business-like tone. "I'm not sure about Phil and his parents, I expect some trouble from the Hermans, but Snow is going to try and minimize Neal's consequences as much as she can. And the Blue Fairy has already decided those three didn't use magic anyway. I think as far as they're concerned, Opal started the fight by pushing Phil down, and Oliver shoved Neal."

Papa gave him a brief glance, and Oliver scowled down at the wilted lettuce on his plate. Who ate leaves on hamburgers anyway? "He called Opal a bitch," he muttered. "What was I supposed to do?"

Mama didn't disagree with him before, and she didn't now. Papa did something of a double take, though. Probably because the thought of a Charming being so vulgar was shocking to most people that didn't handle Neal regularly.

"He called her a bitch? Why?"

Well Mama hadn't asked that...no one had, really. Except Leroy when he barked at Neal, who looked like he'd wet his pants. Oliver squirmed, picking at the edge of his sweater cuff.

"He was trying to tell Mrs. Nolan that Opal pushed down Phil, because he's a tattletale rat, and I told him to shut up because Phil did to provoke her. And I was kind of tired of them getting away with it all day...and he told me to...um...to...tell _her_ to shut up. Only he called her a bitch."

Papa's face became very blank. Oliver hated it when he did that, because he had the best poker face ever, and he didn't know what would happen next. Apparently, that was Papa resting his elbows on the table and asking, seriously, "Oliver. Has Mr. Nolan ever done that before? Used...profane terms, when addressing you or your friends?"

Oh that was bad, for Neal. Papa rarely ever called him "Neal" to start with, but when he was especially displeased with the boy who'd been named after his firstborn, he called him "Mr. Nolan" in a low voice.

Papa didn't know, Oliver didn't think, about Monday. If he did, it wasn't hard to imagine Papa sweeping down to the school like Batman on a mission of vengeful justice. And it was true that Neal had called him a bastard before, and a bitch, and a dumbass, and once even a shithead. Nothing they didn't say right back to him though...however...it was the context that was upsetting. "Bastard" was just a curse word, until you coupled it with references to parentage and implications. Which Neal had.

"He...called me a bastard on Monday, and tried to say you weren't...I mean, that Mama just said you..." Oliver couldn't get the words out. But he didn't have to.

"He tried to say you were not the father, that I tricked you, or that you tricked me," Mama summed up crisply. "And-"

"Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" Papa asked, looking at Mama with that poker face and a stern set to his jaw. "Have you told his parents? David?"

"I...well no, I didn't-"

"Why not?"

"Because I-I don't know! I thought I could handle it without-Look," Mama stopped. "Well bring it up Monday. I'm pretty sure the two incidents can be linked together as proof of what a-" Mama glanced at Oliver. "Bigoted little nitwit he is."

"Well _obviously_ ," Papa frowned. "Now let me get this straight, Monday he calls Oliver a bastard-"

"He had Phil and Tommy with him. They sort of ganged up on Garrick and Opal when they tried to speak up for me," Oliver added, not sure if he should. He left Robbi's part out because that was all cleared up now.

"And _apparently_ verbally assaulted the same two children that, today, were bullied and physically assaulted in the mines. That seems like something that could be cleared up with a quick word to a parent."

"I know that now! Rumple, you don't deal with with Snow at school. Don't-Don't you remember what happened with the donkey ears? She was more concerned about fixing Ruth than she was with why she'd drank the potion in Regina's vault to begin with. It's just like that with Neal. Come Monday she'll have herself convinced that if Opal isn't to blame, then Phil is, and that Neal just jumped in with his friends instead."

Papa tapped on the tabletop a moment, thinking. "David, then. He's far more reasonable than Snow is. I remember he extracted a promise from all three of them to never go into the vault with an adult, and to not touch anything in my shop unless they were buying it."

Mama nodded slowly. "That...might be better. But I don't think he's even aware of what's going on. When they came to see you in the hospital-"

"Why did they do that?" Papa blinked. "Did I miss an emergency while I was out?"

That was almost funny... _almost_.

Mama shrugged. "I mean, you are Henry's grandfather. Snow and Emma spent more time talking to him, but David spoke to me. He said he was going to try addressing Neal's behavior, but I'm not sure Snow tells him everything. Actually, I'm pretty sure she doesn't tell him everything, because he doesn't tolerate bullies. I can't imagine he'd allow his son to be one if he knew the whole of his behavior."

"Hmm...well, it's something to go on..." Papa hummed.

Oliver couldn't help but feel like they were building up a legal case in front of him. It was fascinating to watch, really. He could almost see the wheels turning in Papa's head as he came up with a direction to take, and Mama was supplying him with all the information she had.

It was cool having two smart parents.

* * *

Emma hadn't been able to sleep with her head stuffed up. The Dimetapp wasn't helping, (neither did a shower so hot and steam she felt woozy stepping out the bathroom,) and nothing substantial was coming out when she blew her nose. She'd asked Killian to bring home some medicine for her sinus congestion when he left for the Jolly Roger, and was glad, at least, that Cleo was feeling better. She had a much lighter cold, it would seem.

So, Emma curled up on the sofa with her daughter while Frozen played on the TV. Cleo was especially fond of this movie because her mother was friends with Queen Elsa. Emma had to admit it wasn't bad, but she felt a little nostalgic watching it herself. Especially the parts with Kristoff. She hadn't known him for more than five hours herself, but the movie portrayed him as a lot...well he was a lot like Neal.

Her Neal, not her little brother.

And that made her feel...she didn't know how to feel, so she tried to avoid being in the room when Cleo was watching this film. Today she'd been too distracted by the pressure behind her eyes, and how she had to breathe out her mouth to notice much of anything going on around her. By the time Emma opened her eyes, (when had she nodded off?) Cleo had put on Brave.

Emma hadn't actually mentioned she'd met Merida. (How did you explain _"I ripped her heart out, twice, and forced her to beat up Rumpelstiltskin and sicced her on Belle until he was ready to draw the sword from the stone, yes that one, so I could save Daddy?"_   to a little girl that was afraid of the dark because of she'd heard how Pan's shadow kidnapped children?) But...the movie was one Emma liked a lot. Merida just wanted to do her own thing, had to adjust her view to see what her mother was trying to do for her, just as Queen Elinor had to adjust her view to see Merida didn't want that for her life. No romantic subplots among the subpar suitors, just mother and daughter.

There was a knock at the door, then, and Cleo bounded up to get it before Emma could disentangle from her blanket cocoon.

"I'll get it!"

"Cleo, wait a minute-"

"It's Henry again!" Cleo reported, peering out the window. (She insisted if she saw who it was, she was perfectly able to open the door herself.) "And Regina. Hey she's got soup!"

Emma made it to the door just as Cleo opened it up, chirping, "Hi Henry!"

"Hello Cleo," he smiled, shifting a paper bag of groceries onto his hip. "How are you today?"

"Good! We're watching Brave, do you wanna sit with us?"

"Maybe when I'm done unloading this stuff I brought with me. Why don't you go sit and keep track of what's going on so you can get me up to speed?"

Cleo darted back to the couch, and Emma drew her bathrobe subconciously around herself. Henry had given it to her as a bit of a gag gift for Mother's Day while she was pregnant with Cleo, it was blue plushy material covered with white circles representing bubbles, and cheerful yellow rubber ducks. It was also warm and cozy as hell, so Emma loved it even if it had a few faint stains here and there that didn't wash out.

It was better than the ratty Winnie the Pooh t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants with a definite stain of tomato sauce on her thigh, at least. She hadn't brushed her hair, so it only looked half presentable because she had it in a sloppy bun at the base of her neck.

Regina eyed her from head to toe, lingering heavily on the toe part.

"Why the hell aren't you wearing socks? Aren't your feet cold?"

Emma looked down. "Uh...I dunno?"

"You sound horrible," she said in her ever-caring way. "Have you taken anything for that congestion?"

"I asked Killian to bring home something..."

"Hmm. Well," Regina walked towards the kitchen with Henry beside her and Emma shuffling behind. "I've brought you the gift of soup and Sudafed, plus whatever else Henry's got in his bag of goodies. You want the pills now or do you wait until you've eaten something first?"

Emma shifted, watching Henry unload some orange juice and another package of Cleo's juice boxes, oyster crackers, a bag of oranges, chocolate ice cream, a package of hot chocolate mix and little bottle of ground cinnamon. All stuff she liked or would need to get over a cold. Something didn't sit right that he was providing all this...and it looked like that bowl of soup Regina had carried in didn't even come out a can. Wow. It wasn't that Emma was unused to kindness anymore, but she didn't know why they were doing all this just for _her_.

But her head was killing her, her throat was raw, and she hadn't even been thinking about what she was going to do for lunch...which was _now_...so...maybe she wouldn't question it too much.

"Gimme the pill," she requested, holding her hand out. Regina dished out the appropriate dosage and found Emma's sheet she'd been writing Dimetapp times and doses on, adding that to the list in her prim handwriting.

Emma found herself seated at the table with bowl of soup reheated in the microwave beside Cleo in short order, a cup of hot chocolate dusted with cinnamon close to hand. (Emma never got the knack for drinking tea, it was hot, wet leaf juice as far as she was concerned.) She felt a little like she was being treated like a child, because while she ate Henry put the dishes away. Regina had put her soup in the fridge and went off to put the towels Emma had neglected into the washer, leaving Killian's clothes in a basket on the bed.

They didn't have to do all that, (as Emma told them...repeatedly,) but they just brushed it off as them helping while they were here. Henry went so far as to grin and put ice cream into three bowls.

"I did ask you to go get ice cream today, so we'll just eat it here instead."

Emma felt an embarrassingly lot like she was going to cry, and figured that was the medicine catching up with her. Sudafed always made her dozy and bleary. Or maybe it was just that it tasted like Regina added a dash of hot sauce to her soup. It wasn't uncomfortable, it tasted really, really good, but Emma's nose started running and Cleo blew her nose in her sleeve right there at the table.

(She refused to be embarrassed because finally the congestion was moving and it felt less like her eyes were about to burst out her skull.)

Regina had gently bossed Cleo into changing into a clean pair of pajamas so the snotty onces could get washed, eventually. Emma never envied how Regina was good at handling smaller children until she found herself going to Regina for advice on how to handle Cleo during that Terrible Twos phase where everything was a contradiction. She was a good mom. And a good cook. Emma's idea of chicken noodle soup recipe was the instructions on the back of a can of Campbells, but it had nothing on this.

Cleo seemed equally enamored, because even though she'd moved on to her ice cream, she asked, "Where'd you get that soup? It's got really long noodles in it, ours are always little-bitty ones."

"I made it myself," Regina smiled. "You have chocolate on your nose, by the way."

Cleo attempted to reach it with her tongue before rubbing it with the heel of her palm. "Oh. How'd you make soup?"

"It's not that hard, really. You buy this stuff called chicken stock, and mix it together with chopped-up carrots and chicken. You have to cook the noodles separate, though."

"Ohhh. Robbi says you're teaching her how to cook, can you teach Mommy how to cook?"

Henry, (traitor,) almost choked on his spoon from laughing.

Emma found her embarrassment and discomfort was fading as the unexpected luncheon went on. Henry and Regina didn't eat any of the soup, saying it was for Emma. Regina had given her instructions on how to heat it, and Cleo asked if that was how you cook the soup. (Henry started laughing again while he was putting their bowls in the dishwasher, damned traitor.) Henry gave her a hug when they went to leave, prodding her to call him later.

"You know if you come over here too much you're going to catch this," Emma grimaced, waving towards herself. "I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."

"I'm your son, Mom," he smiled, tugging on one of her bathrobe's loops. "It's fine, we're related."

"You say that now, but you'll hate it when your head's full of snot."

"Maybe, but only then. See ya Cleo, get better soon."

"I'm trying," she said seriously, hugging Henry around the waist. "We're gonna have a Valentines Day Party on Friday, I don't wanna miss it!"

"Then drink plenty, and get some rest," Regina said, surprised-yet-accepting of the hug Cleo locked around her waist, and lifting a regal brow at Emma. "And that goes for you too."

Emma held up her hands. "I know, I know. Lead by exmaple and all. Thanks for the soup and stuff."

Regina's face softened. "Don't mention it."

Once they left, the house was quiet again. Emma perused their collection of DVDs again and selected Star Wars: A New Hope. Henry had given Cleo this one last Christmas, saying it was high-time she meet one of the most important princesses under the Disney flagship: Princess Leia. It was also one of the safest movies in the franchise for a seven-year-old to start with, and since it was the start of the whole empire, (uh...franchise-speaking, of course,) if Cleo was going to be as big a movie-geek as Henry, it was a good place to start out.

Cleo had strongly considered upgrading from a sword to a blaster and had engaged in a serious debate with her friends at a sleepover about it until deciding that swords were easier to pretend with because any stick could be a sword, but a blaster's shape was hard to copy.

Such a practical daughter, Emma had. She smiled as Cleo wiggled in closer under the blanket while the horns blared on the TV screen and yellow font rolled up the screen...

By the time the movie ended and the credits rolled by, Cleo had nodded off against her side. Emma was dozing off herself when she heard the door open. It was almost a quarter to three, then, and it was Killian returning home with a brown paper bag and a small plastic bag.

He pressed a kiss to Emma's head. "How are you, love? Sorry I'm late but I had to try elsewhere for your medicine, pharmacy was sold out."

"Mm, s'okay," Emma yawned, rubbing her gritty eyes. "Regina brought me some Sudafed earlier."

"What was she doing here?"

"Uh...she came with Henry. He-Didn't I tell you that? He was coming by today."

"No," Killian frowned. "You didn't tell me that. If I'd know that it would've saved me a trip."

"Oh...well...I wasn't really expecting him to bring stuff with him."

"Stuff? What kind of stuff?"

"Um, y'know, stuff. Orange juice, oranges, the Sudafed, some ice cream. Just like a care package, that kinda stuff. Dd you eat lunch yet? There's some soup in the fridge."

"And I suppose they brought the soup, too?"

Emma's head was foggy, so maybe she was just being too slow or vague to be understood. She rubbed her eyes again, nodding. Killian patted her shoulder and muttered for her to stay put, and she was really warm, and Cleo was still propped against her side, so she decided that was sensible.

She'd almost dozed off again when she heard a loud, shattering crash and Cleo jolted awake beside her.

"Killian?" Emma hooked an arm around Cleo to keep her calm. "Are you alright?"

"Wha's goin' on?" Cleo slurred, blinking owlishly.

From the kitchen, Emma heard Killian sheepishly say, "I'm sorry, love, that bowl of soup fell out when I opened the door. I guess you put it too close ot the front or something, I'll clean it up in a jiff, just stay in there."

"Are you okay Daddy?"

"I'm alright, love, just stay out the kitchen. There's a lot of broken glass."

Emma's ruffled nerves began to settle once she realized it was just the broken bowl, not someone crashing in through the windows. Storybrooke was very peaceful, now that there was no Dark One and Zelena was locked up. Still...old habits die hard, and all that. Cleo snuggled into Emma's side, prompting her to wrap her sleepy daughter in her arms under their blanket again.

"Sad...I really liked that soup..." she mumbled, nodding off again.

* * *

When Henry got home from visiting Emma, he'd been torn between feeling pleased at how nice the visit had gone, and how furious he was that Hook was just taken his sweet fucking time getting home. Cleo was so young, and an only child, that she probably didn't realize good fathers didn't take hours to get home when their families needed them. Emma should have known better. Henry intended to talk to his grandfather to get some advice on what he should do, because this situation really didn't sit well with him...

But Gold was distracted. And Henry soon found out why.

"He's a fucking menace!" Gold snarled, waving a crystal tumbler around in a broad gesture. "Named after my son, _the great_ _hero_ they didn't even put the right name on his grave for, and he's a fucking menace picking on his namesake's brother! What the-What?"

Henry plucked the tumbler out his hand. There was maybe a half a finger of whiskey left in there, and Gold wasn't slurring yet, but he was definitely not what he'd call _sober_ either. "I thought you'd quit drinking?"

"I'm not on that antidepressant pill now, what does it matter?"

"Because alcohol is a depressant, and you have depression. How about I get you a cup of tea and we talk about whatever happened?"

"Neal called Oliver a bastard."

Well...huh.

"When?" Henry narrowed his eyes, sitting in the armchair opposite Gold's in his study. "Why?"

"Why? Because he's a spoiled little shit, I suppose. When? Monday," Gold rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers on the leather arm. "Belle thought she could handle it without telling anybody. Fucking-How does my wife stand up so bravely against me, when she lets other people trod all over her like a doormat? The whole fight Friday was because Neal didn't get to walk with who he wanted to walk with, he and that Briars boy were being bigoted little shits to Opal, and then he called Opal a bitch and Tommy Herman popped out of nowhere to strike Oliver."

"What did Grandma do?"

Gold laughed dryly, his head falling back. "She was so worried about her precious prince she didn't bother listening to Opal's side of the story. And she's so much more concerned with the magic side of things she's invited the Blue Fairy to oversee a meeting Monday afternoon. Isn't that delightful?"

Henry knew that his grandmother was protective of her brood of children. He knew she had "mom goggles" that made her perception a little warped, at times. She was an enabler at times, too. But he really thought she wasn't so...one-sided. She was Snow White! The Fairiest of Them All! A hero! The defender of the good and right! But she wasn't, really. No. She was just a human being, one that made mistakes. Lots of mistakes.

And goddammit Henry wasn't letting her get away easily with this one.

"I'll talk to her," he frowned. "David too. They need to-"

"No, no," Gold shook his head. "No. I'll handle it. Belle and I talked over a strategy of sorts for Monday's meeting. Snow's ignorance is a key point. We will show she's incompetent maintaining equality in a classroom where her son is involved, and she will defend the boy at the expense of his peers. This will make her an unfit teacher in the eyes of the Hermans and Briars', and the principal shoul-I'm sorry, am I monologing?"

Henry smiled. "Nah. You want to show her biases and discredit her ability to mediate, right?"

"Right."

"Okay...but after Monday, I'm having a talk with them. Oliver is family, and they can't say family is what matters most if they keep on like this. That goes for you, too."

Gold blinked. "What am I doing wrong?"

"No, no, you're..." Henry hesitated a moment. What he meant was that he shouldn't have to choose between two sides of his family, especially when they were equals lately. That his maternal grandparents should at least be respectful of his paternal family. Especially since Emma never would have been born if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't pulled the right strings to get them together. But...maybe he didn't need to talk that through with Gold just yet. One step at a time. "Nevermind. How about that cup of tea?"

Come Monday, something had to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter has the great school meeting. The one after that is when Henry gets his chance...because the next chapter ran long. *shrugs*
> 
> Side note: Editing with hiccups sucks. -_-' *HIC!*


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a few hours earlier than usual because I am bored and literally could not wait to get this out already. Nghh! *posts*
> 
> (Cookies for guessing who makes a guest appearance as a blustery-but-well-meaning principal. :3)

Rumpelstiltskin pulled out a crisp black suit from his closet, fresh from the dry cleaners.

He pulled on a burgundy shirt and fastened his black tie before putting on the black vest and his suit jacket, and took a look in the mirror. Hmm. The shirt wasn't black, and the hint of color was noticeable, but not enough to break up the darkness of everything together. He selected a shirt in a brighter shade of red, like fresh blood, and nodded to himself in the mirror. Better. He didn't mind the muted burgundy shade, but he was marching into a battle of opinions.

Rumpelstiltskin had long found that image was everything. It wasn't enough to just wear a nice cloak, he had to go whole hog about his appearance when he was the Dark One. The leathers and silks and dragon hide coats had unnerved people, that an ugly imp was dressed in such a unique, eye-catching, bizarre manner turned heads, threw people off.

Suits weren't too different: They were synonymous in this land with men in power. The colors altered your perception of a person. Red was linked to blood and power and sin, the opposite of the oh-so-pure Blue Fairy and her demure little nun frock, but it was also eye-catching and overpowering.

Perfect.

He was displeased that Belle had been...if not negligent, than overly lenient, with the bullies at school. And saddened that Oliver felt he needed to hide it from his father. But they had a plan of sorts, now.

Regina would side with whichever side suited Robbi's needs best. Which as a parent Rumpelstiltskin found agreeable, especially for a child like Robbi that was still adjusting to a stable, healthy environment. The Briars were unpredictable, the Hermans would side with whoever wasn't Rumpelstiltskin. Blue would play her own side and yank anyone foolish enough to listen's chain. Snow would defend her precious little prince against everything if she could help it, and that was what they would target.

As Snow was in a position of authority that demanded she treat each child in her charge equally, or at least accordingly. Favoritism would be highly frowned upon and if she tried to excuse young Mr. Nolan's behavior as being influenced by either of his friends, the parents would likely disagree with that assessment. Through Belle, they had the backing of Opal's and Garrick's parents, and Leroy and Astrid were eyewitnesses to Mrs. Nolan's conduct on Friday after the fighting had stopped.

A very _lacking_ conduct, at that.

While Rumpelstiltskin's primary motivation was protecting his son, he was certainly not going to leave another child to any cerulean wolves just because Snow was afraid of the unknown. Henry still seemed more than surprised he was going, though.

"Do you need me to come with you?" he'd offered, more than once over the course of the weekend. "I don't mind."

"No, I can handle it. Should your other grandparents not get along so charmingly for some time after this, will you mind that?"

Henry shrugged. "They'll be fine. Neal's their kid, they gotta figure out how to handle him together. Better than they do now, I might add. Do you need a ride though, or do you want to drive there?"

Rumpelstiltskin decided not to press his luck and accepted the ride. The drive over gave him time to practice those breathing tips Hopper was always telling him about, breathing in for a certain count, exhaling for another count. He'd settled on four. Four was a fine number. Square, solid even. Four was a good number.

_One...two...thee...four..._

Hold.

_Four...three...two...one..._

Repeat.

* * *

The children's desks had been moved to either side of the room, the chairs left in the middle, very reminescent of a courtroom. There was an almost visible divide in the seating arrangements: The left side was where Phillip was sitting with his son, the Hermans and their son Tommy, and Snow White and her son Neal. The right side, with a noticeable gap between them, saw the parents of Opal, Garrick, and Oliver sitting there. The only person close to sitting in the "middle" was Robbi Mills and her guardian Regina, though they were still closer to the right side of the room.

When the Phil was sent home early Friday, Phillip wondered why. He'd thought that the field trip would go on until after two in the afternoon, but the children had been sent home a quarter past one. Phil had looked like he'd gotten in a fight, and in fact, he had.

He said that one of the little girls, Opal, had pushed him down in the mines, and that her friends attacked his friends. Something about his story sounded fishy because Stephanie said something earlier in the week about Phil getting in trouble by teasing Opal. Then, Saturday morning, Snow called to say there was going to be a conference on Monday afternoon to address the fighting that Phillip had been aware was getting worse than it had been when Phil got held back in the third grade last year, but hadn't thought it was too bad.

Children quarreled with each other. There was a prince from a neighboring kingdom, James, that had made fun of Phillip whenever they met because he was quiet and got skittish about hunting for sport. It was just a part of being a kid, right?

Aurora intended to be here, however, she'd gotten sick that morning with food poisoning or something. The blame was placed squarely on the egg salad sandwich she'd eaten for lunch yesterday, the eggs and mayonnaise thrown out, and she'd told Phillip to go on ahead. So here he was, feeling slightly out of place and uncomfortable with how Opal's father kept glaring this way and how the Blue Fairy had swept into the room.

Phillip didn't know why she was there, exactly. He just knew it made him even more uncomfortable...and worried.

Principal Hornsby was seated at Snow's desk, serving as the school's impartial judge on how to proceed. He was a kindly older man, with combed-back brown hair and a mostly-gray beard, and great big eyes behind his thick glasses. He usually wore a tweed suit, but what Phillip found most interesting was Principal Hornsby's small, hooked nose that looked like a beak, giving him this owlish sort of appearance. Some parents thought he was too flighty to be a principal, but he was truly a competent man. Just a bit distracted at times, with a great deal of spelling errors on his paperwork that were more amusing than anything.

While they waited on David to arrive, Hornsby had started polishing his glasses, the only person in the room that wasn't crackling wither nervous energy, or impatient for this to be over. Phillip was more in the former camp himself, and really couldn't wait for David to get here to break the tension.

And he did arrive at last...but no one paid any attention to him when _Mr. Gold_ walked in not five steps behind him.

Mr. Gold had been largely absent in the past school year. Belle had first told him to keep away because of the Black Cauldron misunderstanding, and then town gossip agreed he'd been in a downward spiral afterwards until he was all but a shut-in. Phillip didn't know Mr. Gold/Rumpelstiltskin well enough to have an opinion of him, really. He was just the former Dark One/Belle's on-and-off partner/Oliver's father. Not someone Phillip would burn at the stake with glee, not someone he'd want to shake hands with. It had been jarring to think he'd attempted suicide, because he was just this imposing, mythical figure...

And he looked the part today.

Mr. Gold strode into the room clad in a sharp black suit and a blood red shirt, the inky line of his tie broken by a gold tie clip. The tap of his cane was audible on the linoleum, but he moved fluidly to one of the seats in the middle of the room, in the divide between the two sides, and rested his hands atop the gold handle of his cane as he stared straight ahead. His dark eyes were cool and impassive, his clean-shaven face stern and calm.

He'd yet to say a word and he had the total, wide-eyed attention of everyone in the room.

David had taken a seat by Neal, their son between him and Snow, who gaped openly at Gold. She leaned closer to her husband and whispered, "What is he doing here?"

"Well, he _is_ Oliver's father..."

"But-"

"Ah!" Hornsby looked up, then, sliding his glasses back on. "Good afternoon Mr. Nolan. Is everyone here? All parents and guardians of corresponding children? Very well then! Now, as it was brought to my attention, we are here today because of the infighting between...well, yes," he gestured at the gap between the two groups. "This. These children and those children. Yes. Now, I will not tolerate such behavior anymore, that is to say, at all, of course. And we're here to get to the bottom of it right now. So...let's start with you, er...which of you girls was at the start of the scuffle? Opal?"

"Yes sir," Opal shifted, sitting up straighter.

"Ah, good. Now, why did you push down Phil?"

"He and Neal had been picking on me since the tour of the mines started. And then Phil touched my back to see if I had wings. I told them to stop both to stop talking to me, but they wouldn't, and when he touched me I'd had enough."

"And then what happened?"

"Then Oliver and Neal started fighting, and Oli pushed Neal."

David's narrowed his eyes slightly at Snow, who was not looking at him. It was an odd reaction...maybe he hadn't been aware of what had really happened. Just like Phillip hadn't been told his son had groped Opal for wings. A glance at Phil saw him shifting in his seat and pointedly not looking up at him, which only confirmed his guilt, really.

"I see. Oliver? And why did you push Neal down."

Oliver Gold had Belle's pale skin and blue eyes, and her way of squaring her shoulders. But his expression was very guarded, like his father's face, and that brought out their resemblance that much more.

He curled his hands into fists on his knees and said slowly, "He was trying to say Opal had pushed Phil down without a reason. And he lied. And I'd had enough of him running his mouth so I told him to shut up, and shoved him. And I know I probably shouldn't have, but then he pushed me back and said to _'tell your bitch to shut up'_   and I don't feel so bad about it."

Hornsby pursed his lips. "I see. Now, Mrs. Nolan, would you kindly explain to me why you didn't mention this Friday instead of going on and on about everyone taking a nap?"

Snow turned slightly pink. "It wasn't a nap, Principal Hornsby, it was a burst of magic that knocked everyone unconscious. And I don't want to see anyone get hurt. When Emma was first coming into her powers, her emotions were all over the place and she blew out one of the walls in the sheriff station. I think that-"

"A very noble sentiment, I'm sure." Mr. Gold interrupted, and the room fell silent. "However, Mrs. Nolan, I should like to add that you and your husband were quite eager to take Emma's magic away from her as a means of solving the problem, and drove her away in your fear of her developing powers."

"We didn't want to take her magic away! We just wanted her to be safe!"

"Which failed. Remarkably."

"You certainly helped that along," the Blue Fairy sniffed. "Your selfish power-grab had all of the fairies trapped in the Sorcerer's Hat and you tried to trap Emma in there as well."

Tinker Bell scoffed, quite loudly. "Not all the fairies. You could have helped Emma with her oh-so-pure light magic at any time, but you just sat in your ivory tower and let someone else take care of it. So you don't have a wing to fly on, especially since this isn't about you, Emma, or Gold."

"Yes," Marco agreed quickly, wringing his hat nervously. "This is about the bullying, and how it is affecting our children." (Phillip imagined he was nervous because, and maybe it was also another reason he was here, was because Tinker Bell and the Blue Fairy mixed like fire and kerosene.)

Belle stood up, then. She probably needed to stand up because she was the shortest person in the room. "That is why we're here. Principal Hornsby, we're not here to assign blame to any one person, we're all here to keep our children safe and healthy. And this isn't just about magic or fist-fights. Monday afternoon, Neal Nolan called my son a bastard, and insulted Opal and Garrick's mothers when they tried to defend him. He was not alone, Phil and Tommy were right there with him, and I'm not looking for an apology, I just want to ask why three young boys can get away with behavior found reprehensible in a grown man."

Phillip's stomach dropped.

Ashley and Sean Herman looked vaguely interested by Belle's statement, but David turned pale. And then red. Phillip looked down at his own son, who was sitting very still and silent. If his squirming was a sign of guilt, this was a fact. A very, very disappointing fact. Phillip had no idea where the boys had learned to act like that. He'd thought that he and Aurora had been setting a good example for Phil, that they'd taught him good manners and conduct. Yeah, he flunked math, but that was academics, not behavioral. But...apparently at school he was just a nasty little twit with two nasty little friends.

Snow tried to speak up again, but Phillip almost missed what she'd said: "You can't just blame Neal, Phil, and Tommy. I understand that there is room for...improvement, of course. But, Belle, I'm Oliver's teacher, and he pushes limits-"

"Your limits, perhaps," Gold said flatly. "Or perhaps your son's limits. Why haven't you mentioned the part Friday where your boy, in addition to harassing Opal, harassed Robbi Mills because she chose to walk with Garrick Booth instead of him? There is room for improvement, Mrs. Nolan, but I think you'll find victim-shaming and defending behavior that only worsens with time is not the same thing."

"I'm not shaming anyone-"

"You wouldn't hear Opal talk Friday when she told you what happened," Leroy snapped. "You were more concerned with where your kid learned a bad word than the fact that he used it against another. If that's not shaming, that's defending."

Sean raised a hand. "Excuse me...but how much longer is this argument going to go on? I've got an appointment in half an hour or so and if we're just going to argue about who did what and why, then I don't think I need to be here."

Ashley nodded. "This isn't getting us anywhere. I want to talk about this magic business, how are we going to handle that?"

Phillip rolled his eyes a little, distracted from a moment by the reprehensible behavior of his son. Ashley was a connsumate snob. Aurora had quit going to those baby social class thingies, when Ashley got pregnant the second time and acted like she was the only woman to have ever borne children. She liked things to be all about her, or specifically her own way. Sean was very self-absorbed himself, but at least he was pleasant, if air-headed. This conversation didn't hold any interest for them because it wasn't directed towards Tommy or themselves at the moment, so of course they'd change the subject.

The Blue Fairy smiled placidly, stepping forwards. She looked very pleased to finally get her foot in the door, so to speak.

"An excellent question, Mrs. Herman. I've ascertained that Neal, Phil, and Tommy were not the cause of the accident. Everyone has a unique signature to their magic, an aura, and I detected no aura in the boys. However, as the other children weren't present, I didn't have a chance to test them. It would have been easier to test on Friday, when the lingering traces of power would have been strongest-"

"Excuse me," Phillip interrupted, raising his hand. "Why wasn't I told about this magic nonsense? I can tell you right now that neither of my kids have magic. And why wasn't I told my son was 'tested' for something?"

Snow blinked like it had simply slipped her mind. Maybe it had... "I...thought I told you that. Didn't I?"

Maybe she told Aurora, or the air, but it hardly mattered. Phillip looked down at his son and frowned. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Well...it wasn't important," Phil shrugged stiffly. "I didn't do it, so one of those four must've done it."

"You didn't think it was important to tell me that? And I'm supposed to believe anything else you say when you lie by omission?"

Principal Hornsby cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem! If I might bring your attention back to one matter that confuses me before we move on to anything else: Mrs. Nolan, why didn't you report to me about the fighting? This does not appear to be a new phenomenon, and I'm certain if I were to put my mind to it, I will be able to recall several past incidents where Neal and his trio have clashed with Oliver Gold and his friends. Why was no one aware of this verbal assault on Monday, or the build-up of the fight during the field trip? Arguments of this nature take time to start. Where were the chaperones?"

Snow swallowed. "Monday they children were on the other end of the playground, I didn't know anything about that. Friday I did notice Oliver snapping at Neal, but-"

"I only snapped at him because he was picking on Robbi and Garrick," Oliver protested. "He was being a jerk to her because Robbi wanted to walk with Garrick. I told you that too, Friday."

"Oliver I'm your teacher, I see a lot more than you think I do," Snow said sternly. "I've seen you push people's limits and run your mouth, and I've seen you drive good kids away when you're upset. I'll admit that I might hold my son to a different standard, but I know Neal, and he would never be act like that. You could have come to me at any time-"

" _Snow_." David snapped, making even Gold turn to stare. "Stop talking."

"I-"

"I said stop talking, please," David ground his teeth. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Snow turned an intersting shade of puce and opened her mouth like she was going to talk, when Leroy added with hard eyes: "Whatever you say next should be better than admitting you hold your kid to a different standard, sister."

She stopped talking. In fact, she seemed to shrink in her seat a little.

"Excellent. It's a bit after-the-fact, I should think," Hornsby said, scratching his nose. "But there should be some sort of consequences. I'm assigning an hour of detention under Mr. Crane to Neal, Phil, and Tommy for the rest of the week. I'm assigning a half hour of detention to you other three for fighting, under Coach Fredericks after school, so be on the lookout for gum in the bleachers-"

"Why do they get less detention time than us?" Tommy whined.

Gold made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle. "Who threw the first blow, young Mr. Herman?"

Tommy got very quiet. If it was anyone else, Ashley probably would have protested on her son's behalf, but something about Gold's intimidating presence made her very quiet, too. Hornsby nodded like that was that, and then stood up.

"Very well then, anything else?" the principal stood up, adjusting his glasses. "Very well then. Ah, and Mrs. Nolan? I'd like to have a word with you later. Meeting adjourned!"

"Principal Hornsby, _sir_ ," the Blue Fairy tapped her foot. "We've yet to get to the bottom of the other issue. It should hardly take long, if you care to wait another moment."

Regina spoke up then, and she'd been quiet for so long that Phillip forgot she was there. "Pardon me, but, I'd like to say something about that; No."

"I beg your pardon?" The Blue Fairy blinked, like she had never heard that word before. Her hand paused in mid-gesture, presumably to summon her wand so the "testing" could begin.

" _No_ ," Regina repeated firmly. "I refuse to submit Robbi to something that's going to make her an outsider. I refuse to submit _any_ child to that. And I remember what Snow said about Emma's powers coming in, that situation was compounded by people othering her, and I won't have you put that stigma on a child's head, especially over something as trivial as this incident."

The Blue Fairy's face was a calm mask. "So what do you suggest? We just let them run uncontrolled until someone gets hurt? Children with magic at this age have great potential, for good or bad, and it's imperative they have the right influences now or-"

Tinker Bell shot to her feet, shaking off Marco's hand this time.

"Don't you dare! Magic has shit-all to do with what's in a person's heart, especially a child! Why you stuck-up bitch, you don't even get to act like that when-"

"What the lady means," Gold added coolly, just loud enough to override Tink. "Is that dark magic and fairy dust do not react, unless the dust is applied to negating a curse. Magic is a neutral medium until it is applied with intent, and as a practitioner yourself, you must admit that is a fact."

The Blue Fairy pursed her lips. "That is true. But as a former practitioner, you must admit it's far too easy for a young person to be led astray down dark paths."

Phillip wasn't sure what to make of that flicker in Gold's eyes that matched Regina's. Tink hadn't sat back down and she balled up her fists like she had to fight the urge to run up and punch the Blue Fairy in the face. There was some kind of bad blood between them, the primary reason Tink didn't associate with fairies and fairies didn't associate with Tink.

He wasn't surprised at all that the blonde fairy repeated: "Don't you _dare_. Not when you punished me for trying to turn Regina down a lighter path because you decided she was a lost cause."

"Well," Ashley muttered. "Obviously she _was_..."

The air had shifted as soon as the Blue Fairy made her comment to Mr. Gold. Phillip wasn't sure he'd ever felt this much raw magic crackling in the air, and he really didn't like it. Being turned into a Yaogai was bad, being a flying monkey was worse. The last thing he wanted today was to be turned into a pile of ashes, or a greasy smudge on the floor with his smaller smudge of a son smeared beside him.

But...

"May I say something?" he asked, standing up. A tug of Phil's shoulder got him to his feet, too. They'd probably want to leave when he was through, this wasn't going to be a popular opinion...

* * *

Belle was glad she'd asked Principal Hornsby to oversee the proceedings. Snow kept saying she wasn't blaming anybody, but she had kept turning things around to point at anybody who wasn't Neal, and it was infuriating. David looked like he was going to sink under his chair in utter embarrassment, and Belle didn't blame him. On the other hand, Rumple had shown up in full Mr. Gold regalia, down to that gold tie clip that had been his only hint of ironic color for years.

(Saying he looked good was an understatement, but that was hardly...an appropriate thought.)

Hornsby had done well in keeping them on track, and his punishment seemed fair for now. Phillip had looked as outraged as David at the report of their son's behavior, and if two of the three boys got an attitude adjustment, then that was a good start. Belle and Phillip were quite cordial, though not exactly friends. Still, de-cursing someone made bonds that were hard to shake. And Aurora was nice. She wasn't sure why Phil had turned out to be such a jerk, really.

But the Blue Fairy was in charge now, and you could see the battle lines drawn between her and the other magic-wielding parents in the room. Tink looked like she was going to strangle her where she stood, and Belle couldn't say she'd stop her. Because while it was perhaps true it was easy to lead a vulnerable person astray, like Regina, all the children in this room had the benefit of loving family, most of them magical themselves. There wouldn't be the ostracization that Emma had experienced from her family for any of them...but what did scare Belle to death was the idea of the Blue Fairy getting her sparkly hands on any child.

If Rumple decided to hit Blue with his cane right now, Belle would use it as a distraction to spirit Oliver away...she probably wouldn't even chide him for it, either...

And then Phillip stood up.

Some of the royals that came over from the old world in subsequent curses had found high-profile positions or high-paying jobs that let them keep their status as elite members of society. Phillip and Aurora were different, he was quite happy managing the stables, and she was quite happy with her job at the hair salon. (Who knew Sleeping Beauty was so good at cosmetology?) Phillip had put on some noticeable weight, and looked very fatherly with his beard, not what one would except a former prince and noble hero to look like at all really...

At least if you weren't paying attention to the square of his shoulders and the light in his brown eyes.

"I agree with Mr. Gold," he declared. "Magic is only as good as what you use it for. It put my wife under a sleeping curse, but it's what woke her up, too. And I agree we shouldn't brand one child like they're a violent criminal for one incident in the mines. If you're so worried about them 'running uncontrolled' then _teach_ _them_ control. That's how Emma got better with her powers, she accepted them and learned how to handle them properly, right?"

"Emma is the Savior," Neal said. "She's a good guy to start with."

"What's that make you then?" Opal glared. "Anti-Savior? Junior Savior? Neal Skywalker?"

"Well what _are_ you, period?"

"Neal," David hissed. "Be quiet."

"But-" Neal blinked, like he couldn't comprehend why his father would be hissing at him...or perhaps why Snow didn't defend him. "But she-"

"Alright, that's it," Leroy stood up. "I'm not going to sit here and wait for you to paint a big blue 'I'm different' sign on my kid. If that's all we're gonna do about the Three Little Bigots, then we're done here."

Astrid grabbed her purse and nodded. "I agree."

"This is the second time you've tried to prevent me from inspecting your daughter," the Blue Fairy said sternly. "If she-"

"You don't get to 'inspect' my daughter!" Astrid snapped, and eyebrows raised at the sharp tone to her normally sweet voice. "You can harass me and my choices all day long, call me an idiot, call me a fool, but you will _not_ come near my children with intent to study. You're not the highest authority in this land and you don't have a monopoly on magic. Supposing Opal does have magic, there are other, better sources than you to learn about it!"

Belle had never seen the Blue Fairy come so close to an expression of sheer outrage before. She thought Rumple was smiling but she didn't dare turn her eyes away to check.

The Blue Fairy stood up to her full height and pointed at Opal like she was a pet that left a mess on the rug. "You're daughter is the only child born to a fairy and a dwarf in history. A highly irregular dwarf, hatching before the rest of his team, not to mention the unpredictable nature of your own magic. There's no telling what that is capable of."

Opal's ears turned bright red. "I'm not a 'that', you shady blue bug!"

"I am trying to keep this town safe from another Zelena; Some unstable little girl or boy with too much power and not enough sense!"

Regina scowled, the little scar on her upper lip rippling. "Don't you dare bring Zelena into this. She was abandoned, raised in a broken home, and she never had anyone care for her. This is not even close to the same thing. Whether you believe it or not, there isn't a child in this room who isn't loved, who means the world to their family. For god's sake, Gold even showed up for his son."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I appreciate the resounding vote of confidence, Madam Mayor," he harrumphed. "Though I still agree with you. If, Rheul Gorm, you truly want to protect the town from an unstable, powerful child, you'll cease the fear-mongering tactics and let things take their natural course. As you've singled them out so aptly, Oliver, Opal, and Garrick all have parents with a knowledge of magic. Teaching them not to fear their abilities and how to maintain control of them should be a natural thing. Mr. Booth in fact already displays an impressive ability to change the colors of a checkerboard to match his fancy."

Garrick smiled a little bit and nodded, not quite noticing the _'touch my boy and die'_   look in Tinker Bell's eyes directed towards the Blue Fairy still.

The Blue Fairy's mouth twisted, and she jerked her chin towards Robbi. "And for her?"

Regina put her arm around Robbi. If Tink's look said _'touch my boy and die'_ , then Regina's eyes spoke of a fate worse than death. "I taught Emma her control. I'm already Robbi's guardian, the responsibility falls to me to take care of her, with or without magic."

"Regina," Snow said slowly. "We don't even know which of them did it."

"It's not dark magic, it was an accident," Regina ticked off sharply, leveling a glare at Snow. "And you're son didn't do it, so what the hell does it matter to you?"

"Ahehem!" Principal Hornsby cleared his throat. "I believe that your presence is no longer required, m'lady. That's enough for today, everyone, thank you all for coming. I hope we can start sorting things out now, for the good of everyone."

He looked a bit pointedly at Snow, if Belle hadn't imagined it. It was brief though, she could have been mistaken.

The Hermans were out the door first. They'd stopped paying attention as soon as it wasn't about them, Tommy in tow. Tink stormed out, holding onto Garrick's shoulder like he might vanish, with Marco close behind. Belle sent Oliver off with Opal and her parents. She wanted to stay behind a moment. Hornsby was seeing the Blue Fairy out, and Snow had gone with them since they were talking about _something_.

Phillip passed by Belle and gave her a smile. Phil had darted into the coat room for his coat, so his father said, "If he gets out of hand again, let me know. I'm sorry it's gone so far, I didn't realize anything had started like _this_."

"Thank you, Phillip," Belle smiled back. "I'll let you know. How's Aurora?"

"She's alright...except for a little case of food poisoning. I've gotta head back to check on her, but then we'll have a long talk with Phil. Promise."

Once he and his son had left, it was just Belle, Rumple, Regina and Robbi, and David and Neal, who was looking down at his feet. Robbi was clinging to her aunt's hand like she couldn't bear to let go, and it didn't look like Regina had intentions of letting her do that, either, while she talked in quiet tones to Rumple.

Belle couldn't hear what they said, but Rumple's face was still stony and cold. He was quite firmly Mr. Gold at the moment. It was unnerving how easily he wore those masks...

"Belle."

David was standing in front of her, now, looking contrite and sheepish. Neal was at his side, but not nearly as contrite. If Belle had to pick an emotion, she'd say that _'petulant'_  suited Neal Nolan best at the moment.

"David," she nodded politely. "Hello."

"Hey. So..." he sighed. "I'd like to apologize. I had no idea...about so much. I'm sorry for that. And Neal has something he'd like to say, too. Don't you?"

Neal squirmed, looking up just long enough to qualify as making eye-contact. "'m sorry for hitting Oliver..." he mumbled in a monotone. "It won't happen again." A hollow promise, really, but it was a start. Hopefully.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to tell him you apologized," Belle said. Though she doubted Oliver would be impressed. It was hardly difficult to apologize to someone who was absent. "That's very gracious of you, Neal."

He muttered something that could have been _"whatever"_   or _"yes ma'am"_   and David nodded. A start. Definitely a start.

"We're gonna go catch up with Snow, see you later Belle."

"Bye David, bye Neal."

They left, and Robbi turned away from Neal when he had to pass her. Oliver had said something earlier about Robbi deciding she didn't want to be friends with Neal. It was something to the effect of him being a bad friend if he couldn't share her with other people. Which seemed logical to Belle, and she hoped Robbi could stick with it.

Regina and Rumple had finished, too, and Regina left then...

Just Belle and Rumple.

Oh dear...

She could see the moment Rumple realized it, too, because his Mr. Gold mask slipped off and he went very still. His brown eyes darted around like he was trying to find something, but obviously he hadn't because they settled on her again and he nodded slowly, politely. Like a formal bow.

"Hey," he said, barely loud enough for her to hear him. "Where's Oliver?"

"I sent him off with Opal. I, um, I wanted to...talk to you."

Talk.

It seemed a lot more like "stammer", really. But she wanted to thank him for coming, that was only fair of her to do. Part of her didn't think he'd come at all, and she hated that, but also couldn't help it. The way he was fiddling with his hands, playing with his fingers (when had he stopped wearing his ring?) and cane, made him look like he hated being alone in this room in the too-quiet school with her.

"Would you like a ride?" he blurted out in a single breath.

"What?"

"A ride. Home. Henry's going to take me home." He faltered. "I mean, we'll drop _you_ off at your home, of course."

"Oh...uh, sure...so..." Belle tried to collect herself, to stop stammering. "Is there really no danger? For Oliver, with the kids? The magic..."

Rumple ran his tongue over his lips. "I suppose there's always an element of danger with magic. And children. But I think it's a very, very low risk."

Slowly, with a wide distance between them, they moved out the classroom and down the hall to the exit. Rumple sent a quick text to Henry as they went, and Belle asked, "So if we just teach them to...stay calm, in a sense, then everything will be okay?"

"In a sense. Yes," Rumple nodded. "Opal and Garrick are by far the tamest, I wouldn't worry about them at all. Being half-fairy is hardly a cause for quarantine. And from what I've gathered, something about the Mills women makes them naturally strong and talented with magic. It was their upbringing and events in their life that drove them to their various atrocities. Regina, once she had a purpose to be a better person for, was the only one to truly learn her lesson. Robbi has her, she has friends like Mr. Booth that are familiar with magic. She won't be another Zelena, at least not now that she's distanced herself from her mother."

Belle nodded. "And _our_ son?"

Rumple hesitated again.

"Oliver...Oliver is...well he's my son," he shrugged. "Baelfire didn't have magic. Henry doesn't have magic, per se. But my mother was the Black Fairy, and I was the Dark One when he was conceived. I wouldn't worry about him having inherited my curse simply because darker magic doesn't mix with those fairy dust jewels. Still...it is...possible he's magic. Does that frighten you?"

Belle felt something pull in her stomach. "No." the sharpness in her tone taking her by surprise, and she attempted to soften in, "I just...I want him to be healthy. Happy. If he has powers, I would like for him to learn how to control them safely. That's all."

"Mm...well, perhaps Regina would take him under her wing. I suspect she'll give some of the saftey tips I taught her to Robbi just to head off a disaster, it couldn't hurt to send Oliver over there to pick up some of those tips."

It was on the tip of Belle's tongue to ask why he couldn't teach Oliver before realizing maybe it was better she kept quiet. For one obvious reason: Rumple didn't have magic anymore. That would be a bit awkward. For another, Rumple had never taught good magic, he'd always been the one handing a loaded gun to people that couldn't resist firing it. He put the Evil Queen on her path.

He was an excellent father, but Belle wasn't sure she'd be comfortable with him teaching Oliver...

And immediately felt guilty about that, because for crying out loud, Rumple hated himself. He'd never want Oliver to follow in his darkest footsteps.

She still kept quiet, because a silence had gone on for so long by the time she wanted to say "okay" it seemed redundant. Then in a few seconds, the Cadillac pulled up. Belle got in the backseat, sitting behind Rumple. She tried to tell herself it was because, leaving school, it would be the side of the car that she'd have to get out of to be in front of the library. It was better than the alternative of acknowledging that she couldn't stand to look at him anymore today, because his mask was slipping away and he looked so tired and worn underneath it that it hurt.

Henry asked how it went. Belle told him some, Rumple told him the rest. Because Rumple was so much more blunt, when they got to the part where _"Snow essentially called Oliver a troublemaker,"_  Henry hit the brakes and almost got rear ended turning off of Gilmore Street.

"She did what?"

"Well she didn't exactly say that," Belle said, trying initially for the diplomatic approach before the flicker of anger stirred in the pit of her stomach again. "She was trying to shift the blame away from Neal."

Henry said a four-lettered word Belle didn't think she'd ever heard from him before. Hmm.

"I knew it! I knew she wouldn't-Goddammit, did Neal have any consequences of his actions to face?"

"Principal Hornsby was less blame-inclined," Belle shrugged. "He gave them hour-long detentions for the rest of the week under Mr. Crane. Oliver, Opal, and Garrick are supposed to learn a lesson about violence not being the answer or something by spending half-hour detentions with Coach Fredericks."

Henry snorted a little. "Well, that is lenient for Oliver. I did detention under Crane once: He talked the whole time me and Grace were cleaning the whiteboard, lecturing us about passing notes in class or something, I forget."

"Then I applaud Principal Hornsby's inventive punishment," Rumple hummed. "Never did like that walking stork Ichabod anyway, reminds me too much of a scarecrow that got a brain but no sense inside it."

Belle giggled a little at that summary, stifling it behind her hand.

Soon enough they'd returned to the library. She suspected that Snow was about to have two of her family members trying to force her to see the light now, but simply wished them a good day and went inside. She'd asked Leroy to bring Oliver home before dinner, and decided after a moment of perusing the fridge that frozen waffles and bacon would make a decent dinner. Breakfast for dinner. A pleasant way to end a surprisingly trying day.

Did they have any blueberry pancake syrup...?

* * *

Considering Rumpelstiltskin had taught Cora, Zelena, and Regina, his promising there were other people that could train a new magical child in Storybrooke made Snow very uneasy. She would feel much better if she knew who had caused the accident, and if they had a plan.

The Blue Fairy agreed with her, but Principal Hornsby did not. He, and the majority of the parents at the meeting, had decided that the parents of the children should handle it.

And for such a pleasant, absent-minded man, Craig Hornsby could put his foot down quite stubbornly.

Once Blue had climbed into her van in a huff and left when they couldn't convince him that the fairies should be involved, Hornsby looked at Snow with a frown. "Mrs. Nolan," he said slowly. "I think you should take some time off."

"What?"

"Quite honestly, my dear, you're violating teaching standards that aren't helpful for the rest of the students. And I can't say I'm pleased with your decision to invite the Blue Fairy to single out one of them, either. Just take some time off, come back on the first school day of March and we'll try again. Just think about what you're doing, that's what you ought to do. Do that."

"Do...that..." Snow repeated slowly. Do what exactly?

"Exactly!" Hornsby nodded, smiling. "I'll have Mr. Whitney fill in for you. Have a nice Valentine's Day, in case I don't see you."

"Wait-"

Hornsby did not wait, he trotted back inside like that was the end of that. And as far as he was concerned, maybe it was. Snow wasn't entirely sure what happened at all, just that she'd been told to take off and "figure things out", for the rest of the month. What did that mean exactly?

She waited until David brought them home and they sent Neal to his room to ask her husband what he thought. David had his arms folded in the way he did usually when he was thinking, but his face remained soft. They'd hardly spoken two words over the weekend, and Snow was tired of being angry. She just wanted something to make sense.

"Snow, you are a good teacher," he said gently. "But whatever's going on with Neal? We can't keep doing this. He can't keep doing this. If he's treating people like this now, how's he going to behave when he's older?"

"I...I know..." Snow stuttered. "There's...there's a problem."

She didn't want to admit it. In her heart, Snow believed that her children were good. She couldn't think that Neal could be so cruel to another person as she was being told he was, it was just unthinkable. And she and David were good, honest people. Neal certainly didn't learn that kind of language and that kind of behavior from them...it didn't make sense, and that was as much a problem as his saying, "Well what are you?" right there in the classroom to Opal like she was subhuman. Her genetics didn't even play into that.

Maybe Snow and the dwarves weren't as close as they'd been once, but she'd never treated them poorly...had she?

They couldn't have taught Neal this kind of behavior...could they?


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty good title for this first part might be: The One Where Henry Snaps Snow's Head On Straight.
> 
> The second half could be thought of as: Why Don't You Two Talk Like Normal People?!
> 
> (And Principal Hornsby is Owl from "Winnie the Pooh"...I forgot to add that during the original posting. Whoops!)

True to Henry's word, Tuesday he went over to his grandparents' house, a cozy little two-story place painted white with a black roof, and bright blue shutters. There were sheep painted on the mailbox that Ruth had done herself, puffy white creatures with little black faces and tiny hooves, that were impossible not to smile at when you passed it.

Today, Henry managed it.

His grandmother stepped outside to talk to him, Leo settled in front of the TV with Elmo's World and a coloring book. Henry had heard the meeting on Monday had been largely successful from Gold and Belle's point of views, but he wanted to drive the message home: Neal was a problem that wasn't going to improve his attitude without her taking action.

"Yes, we know Neal has some problems," she said slowly, sheepishly. "David and I are trying to work with him. He has detention for the rest of the week, actually. We're trying, Henry, he'll come around."

Something about the "we" part irritated Henry. Something about the way Snow seemed to think the mandatory detention was enough punishment irritated, too, but at the moment he kept himself in check. It was a step forwards...even if it didn't sound promising.

"Okay...so what are you doing about Oliver?"

"Oliver?" Snow blinked. "Well I've, er, been told to take some time off at the moment so I don't know what they-"

"Have you gotten Neal to apologize yet?" Henry tried again, hoping pointing out the obvious would be an easier route. He used to think Gold was just being sarcastic and biting when he belittled the Charming family's intelligence, but maybe there was a seed of truth there...

"For what? For Friday? Well-"

"What do you mean 'for Friday', of course for Friday! And for a lot of things if we're being honest here!"

"I know, I know Henry, it's just...just have some patience, this isn't something that just changes overnight. We're trying-"

"Stop saying that!" Henry snapped, his thin patience snapping. "Stop saying we! It's Neal's fault he's choosing to bully Oliver, no one else's! Stop defending him!"

"I am not defending him here! I know he's gotten out of hand, I'm trying to fix that, don't you see?"

Henry took a deep breath, but something ugly had broken loose in his chest. He'd spent the last nearly nine months in hell, trying to keep his grandfather together, trying to protect him from a literal angry mob threatening to break down his door, trying to give Oliver support Belle hadn't noticed he'd needed badly, trying to work things out with a mother who continually chose Hook over everyone else whether it was right or not, and goddammit, he was tired.

He couldn't care anymore about what Snow White was trying to do now, she never should have let it get this far period.

"Do you want to know what I've seen? I've _seen_ so much bullshit from this side of my family that I don't care anymore! All you care about is your fucking perfect family image when Neal's a shithead and your grown daughter's home alone sick and you don't even ask about her!"

At that, Snow's eyes went wide, but her shocked expression had just irritated him more. He'd stormed off before she could get another word in, ignored her calling his name.

And he was glad that he'd walked to the house because it was good exercise, stomping back home. It eased some of the sharp, raw edges on that ugly thing that rattled loose inside him. Henry wasn't sure if it was stress, worry, anger, or what, but it scared him. And didn't, at the same time.

Because it was true: The side of his family tree that was supposed to be brave, good, and do the right thing had watched him watch Gold crumble before his eyes and encouraged Belle to keep shoving him away because they didn't think he was good enough, that he couldn't change for good.

Well, Gold had changed. And it wasn't for the best.

Before the Black Cauldron, Henry could honestly say his grandfather was, if not happy, then content with his life. There was very little room to complain, he supposed. Because of an incident years before with Belle finding a spellbook in his nightstand, she'd decided they were finished and Gold hadn't pursued her. But, he'd had Oliver, Henry had moved in with him and they were doing alright, those therapy sessions with Archie were paying off fabulously and there was a healthy sort of spring to his step that Henry couldn't recall seeing before. Content, if not happy.

After the Cauldron...

Henry supposed it was many things that had caused it, but seeing ghostly, zombiefied Baelfire clawing up out the earth, grabbing Henry's leg, was something that haunted his own nightmares. Henry had scars around his calf where the sharp, bony fingers dug into his flesh, and he'd never forget the sound of the shattering skull. Apparently the only way to stop the Cauldron-Born was traditional zombie rules, destroying the head.

That the head had worn Baelfire's face as he'd looked when he died? Henry hadn't seen the head shatter, exactly, but he knew Gold did...and that was something that probably caused him to stop sleeping.

That was before the great heroes had tossed Gold into a cell under the hospital and just left him there. Henry wasn't even sure they fed him. When they let him out at last, they treated it like a mark on a checklist: Secure town, treat wounded, let innocent man we've scarred for life go, have dinner. That was before the mob, that was before every stupid thing Hook and Moe French had to say, that was before Oliver had to sneak around just to talk to his father--A shattered skull was the beginning of the end of that spring to Gold's step.

"Henry!"

Some small, snuffly things butted against Henry's legs. Two of the four dogs Violet had on various leashes took a keen interest in his shoes, and his girlfriend herself wiggled by them to plant a kiss on his cheek.

" _Mwah!_  Hey, how's it..." she paused, studying his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Need some help with that?"

Violet gave him custody of two dogs, a golden retriever and some scruffy little beast that couldn't sit still. That left the terrier looking thing and the graying lab that shuffled along quietly with Violet, who herself had a bright red nose and wind-chapped cheeks that looked quite pretty with the tousled little curls escaping her hood. One of the dogs had basically eaten her hat a few days ago, so she'd been wearing the big hood of her coat whenever she walked the dogs in the mornings for the shelter.

"So...what's going on?"

Henry hesitated a moment. He could say nothing again...but it really wasn't.

"I sort of blew up at my grandmother. Snow. She's trying to get on top of Neal's bad attitude now that's she's been called out on it, but...god. I am just...it's like...why do they only do things to protect themselves anymore? She was Snow White, the bandit princess, and now she's that teacher that goes easy on her kid and screws the others! Why are you smiling?"

Violet turned her head down, unsuccessful in trying to hide her smile. "I'm sorry. I just remember when we were in high school and Mr. Zimmerman took over shop class. Gretel said it was the total opposite for her; He scolded her for using too much whatever on whatever she was welding in front of everybody, I felt so sorry for her."

Ah. Henry had forgotten about that...it had made him glad he'd aged out of his grandmother's class by the time his family tree was folding out.

"Yeah...true."

"So how's Oliver doing?"

"Not bad, I think. He says school's pretty quiet, but I'm reserving judgement for now, though. So's everyone else really. I keep remembering how Grandma and Grandpa handled Emma during her rough patches, with her magic, as the Dark One, going to hell...."

"Well she ripped my heart out," Violet rolled her eyes a little. "I'd say they weren't handling very well."

"Nope, uh...sorry about that... _again_."

"I'm over it, mostly. It's just kinda annoying now. This is Emma Jones, my boyfriend's birth mother. When I was thirteen she ripped my heart out to make me a meat-puppet to break Henry's heart for some magic reasons that fell flat, oh, and later she stole my horse."

"Really over it, I see."

Violet bumped shoulders with him. "Oh hush! I don't...I don't think they're bad people, I really don't. They're just a little...choosy. It's just like, once they accept you, they'll do anything for you. But if they don't really accept you, then you're really..."

"Expendable?" Henry sighed, closing his eyes. But only for a moment because that little dog nearly ran into the street in the two seconds he wasn't looking. "Yeah...I sometimes think it's 'cause of everything that's happened here in Storybrooke. They are...kind of tight knit to the point of being a in a knot. I mean, I live with Gold, maybe I'm biased, but at least Gold's got the excuse of being an antisocial bastard-and I love him when I say that,-for not wanting to get tied up in anyone else's business."

"Yeah, you're grandfather kind of hates everyone that isn't related to him."

"Not everyone," Henry scrunched up his nose. "Jefferson comes around now and then for a cup of tea, they're alright. I think he respects Archie a lot more than he lets on, Tink, too, though he probably wouldn't admit liking any fairies. Maybe Maleficent and Regina, depending on the day. He _loves_ you, though."

"Seriously?"

"Well yeah, you're great."

"Of course you think so, you're my wonderful boyfriend," Violet smiled. "He really likes me? He doesn't just put up with me because we're together?

Considering Gold's list of people he liked was very short and, despite what Henry just said, probably limited to blood relatives and perhaps people that rhymed with Shell, Violet was still included. It could have been simply because she was Henry's girlfriend, but Henry liked to think Violet had impressed Gold with her kindness, her good manners, and her delightfully underrated sneakiness. Probably especially the sneakiness; She'd given him a pair of cufflinks Christmas before last, and put the small box in progressively larger boxes so there was now way of telling what the real gift was, and Gold had grinned like a Chesire Cat over it. And who really wouldn't like Violet?

(Well...his mothers had their little blow-up, but that had been a big fight over a pregnancy scare...tensions and all that.)

Henry leaned over and pressed a kiss to the outside of Violet's hood. "He likes you. And I love you. So you are never expendable."

"Wonderful answer, wonderful boyfriend," she giggled.

Henry couldn't imagine not having Violet around to talk to. He did have other friends, but he could tell Violet anything, and vice versa. That angry burn in his chest evaporated as they walked back to the animal shelter where he left his marvelous girlfriend to finish up her shift, and walked home. Windows in town were decorated with pink and red and white romance-themed decorations for Valentine's Day, and it occurred to Henry that he'd completely forgotten about that...

* * *

Cleo was healthy as a pint-sized horse again and bouncing off the walls with boredom. Killian had taken her to school Tuesday morning and left Emma a note on the nightstand saying he'd be back after lunch, with a little 'X' signed at the bottom. He'd brought her a grilled cheese from Granny's before heading back into work, promising to pick up something for dinner.

Her cough hadn't faded yet, and she didn't even want to think about the snot situation, but her sinus pressure and headaches were markedly better. She could probably go back to her normal life tomorrow or the day after. She wasn't sure just how much she was up for, but she should really think about doing something nice for her husband. Sunday and Monday he'd stayed home when Emma's head still felt uber-pressurized, and insisted she get some sleep in bed while he kept an eye on Cleo. Breakfast in bed, hot chocolate and cinnamon on demand, that sweet, doting side he never let other people see came out and Emma might've felt better just because of the attention.

(Although the reheated Campbell's soup didn't quite compare to Regina's homemade stuff, but there was no use crying over spilled soup.)

Emma had moved down to the couch to watch something on TV that wasn't made for children under ten or produced by Disney, and settled on the BBC channel to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was an early season, the plot was a little stiff and boring and everyone's uniforms looked too small, and Troi still had that 80s cheerleader thing going on with her hair. Emma blamed Henry for why she could tell that.

She was of the nurture side of the Nature vs. Nurture argument mostly, but Henry and Neal had both been such nerds for a father and son that hadn't met for eleven years. And yes, she blamed them for infecting her with their nerdiness, which was why she was watching Star Trek in her PJs-

_Knock knock!_

Emma shut off the TV.

Her mother was on the other side of the door, and Emma didn't know why she looked mildly horrified. Maybe it was because of Emma's ugly pajamas and unbrushed hair at four in the afternoon.

"You _are_ sick!" she blurted out.

"Uh...hi Mom, nice to see you too."

"Oh Emma, why didn't you tell us you were sick? David thought you were home taking care of Cleo, we didn't know-" Snow cut herself off, looking weirdly guilty and...upset? "Nevermind. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good. You can tell Dad I'll probably be back to work at the end of the week-"

"Don't worry about that," Snow waved her hand. "Just...oh, I'm sorry, I'm just a little...flustered. Henry came over earlier, and I tried calling first but you weren't answering the phone-" oh, she'd left it upstairs, oops, "-and it's-I've just not had a very good start to my week is all."

"What happened?"

"I...Emma, can I ask you something? I need your honest opinion now. Can you give me that?"

"Okay..." Privately, Emma prayed this wasn't a question about her parents' relationship. Or sex life. It was so awkward being the same age as your parents sometimes... "Shoot."

"Am I overprotective of my children?"

Oh. On the one hand, bullet dodged. She still couldn't look at tacos the same way again without memories. On the other hand...hmm.

"You..." Emma struggled for the right words. "You're protective. That's just kinda who you are, I thought. You're very maternal, y'know, even before you were my mom."

Snow's face twisted. They moved inside and sat on the couch because this was an awkward conversation to have in the doorway. "I mean, overprotective. Have I ever...shielded you from the consequences of your actions? I don't mean like with...with Lily, I mean have I ever protected you when you did something wrong, and I knew it was wrong, but I defended you anyway?"

This was a hard question to answer. Emma wasn't sure how to answer at all, really. For one thing, she was a grown woman. Snow was, technically, a year younger biologically than her. They had the nurturing, conversational sort of mother-daughter bond. She and David had never had to discipline her or teach her those core life lessons you see on after school specials. Emma tried to think of an example she'd witnessed with her younger siblings, but was drawing a blank.

It was really hard to give your mother an honest opinion about her, it would seem.

"I would say that you're...overprotective for a reason," Emma decided. "You had to send me away through the wardrobe, so you're really, _really_ determined to keep the other three safe. Even if you sometimes go...a little overboard with it. What's brought all this up anyway?"

"Would you say...Neal's a bully?"

"I'd say he's a stubborn. Bossy." Neal was ten and Cleo was seven. There was an age gap to consider but Neal did have a habit of wanting to be in charge whenever all the youngest Charmings came together to play. If Emma really thought about it now, she could recall boys in group homes acting like that and pushing her around because she was smaller, quieter, and female. "Is he giving someone a hard time at school? Who?"

"It's...it's mostly Oliver Gold, and I thought that was just, you know, natural," Snow shrugged uncomfortably. "Oliver's very different from Neal, he's not as boisterous, he likes to sit in the corner with his books. Sometimes the Rumpelstiltskin in him comes out and he lashes out at other kids. But it's not like that anymore, it's like...I don't know where this is coming from, but Neal and his two friends _purposely_ go after Oliver now, and Friday he and Phil were picking on Opal on our field trip to the mines, and Neal got mad with Robbi because she didn't want to walk with him and-It doesn't make sense. I don't know why he's acting this way and I'm afraid it's my fault because of something I did, or didn't do, or maybe I'm just a bad mother. Principal Hornsby told me to take some time off and reorient myself, so apparently he thinks I'm a bad teacher too."

Emma had met a kid during her stint in public high school as a sophmore that had been a gym teacher's son. He'd always gotten picked first for dodgeball, never got in trouble for harassing girls in the gym, once he'd pantsed another boy and hadn't even gotten a reprimand. Not every kid, of course, got special treatment for having a parent on the school faculty...but...

"I don't think you're bad, either as mother or a teacher," Emma said slowly, thoughtfully. "Maybe you should just separate your parent feelings from your professional ones, for a start."

"I'm trying. We've grounded Neal, he's not allowed anywhere but home and school right now, and we'll go from there. Henry doesn't seem to think that's good enough...but then I've only started yesterday."

"What did Henry have to say?"

"He's...well I think this whole thing with Gold has him stressed out, tired. I understand that. The only thing that really hurt was that he seemed to think we were still thinking of Gold as The Enemy, and he was upset nobody knew you were sick."

No one knew? Didn't Killian tell David when she didn't show up for work? It must've been some sort of misunderstanding.

Snow smiled. "He'll come around, I'm sure. Gold looked fine when he came to the meeting we had about everything yesterday. Even without the Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin always bounces back."

* * *

He felt like shit.

Monday, Rumpelstiltskin had skipped lunch because his stomach had twisted into stressful knots. It had been hard enough squaring off against the Blue Fairy's determination to pin the title of **DANGEROUS CHILD** on some poor kid. Experience made him suspect she was hoping it would be his son, so she could nail him to a figurative cross just for sharing the same blood as the last Dark One.

Or perhaps she wanted to punish Leroy and Astrid for defying her and making their own happy ending? Or maybe she was looking to punish Zelena's daughter, or Tinker Bell's son...really those four children could all suffer if Blue got her nasty little hands on them.

Rumpelstiltskin had surprised himself by not throwing up. It wasn't just the anxiety either, it was with how far Snow had her head up her arse to not see the problem wasn't Oliver "pushing limits" so much as it was Neal and his friends being vicious bullies that weren't getting better.

Unsurprisingly, he hadn't been much for eating dinner on Monday either. He'd picked at meals on Tuesday, thinking it was still nerves. He'd noticed his throat was starting to itch, and assumed it was a bit of dehydration maybe. Wednesday morning he woke up to a feeling of wooziness and a headache that tampered and a sort of stuffiness, and was sure that was just a combination of hunger and stress still eating at him. He'd forced himself to eat the scrambled eggs he put on his plate anyway, because dammit, he was doing better.

He was not going back to that scared, helpless, jittery little man that wanted to end it all, not now. He'd finish his damned breakfast and then go outside for a bit to practice sitting there...

Except he started to notice it was uncomfortably warm. And he could only breathe out one nostril. And there was a foul, slimy drip running down his throat, and his headache was located right behind his eyes and in his forehead. And when he'd forced himself to clear all the fluffy scrambled eggs off his plate, his stomach flipped in warning and that was the only hint that Rumpelstiltskin had that something was wrong before he rushed for the sink to throw up bits of yellow eggs and brownish, bile-laced tea.

Ah. That's what was wrong: He was sick.

He hadn't been sick in centuries. That was why he hadn't recognized the symptoms of a cold. Whenever he got sick, if memory served, he always lost his appetite. That was why he wasn't hungry, and force-feeding...well for reasons he didn't dwell on outside of therapy, that certainly wouldn't get him to keep food down. Aha.

Henry seemed just as pleased that it wasn't anything more serious, but still, he'd turned down the lad's proposal of staying home today.

"You go down to the shop Henry, I'll be fine."

"But-"

"You're not the pirate, lad, you didn't leave me here with a sick child and no medicine. I'm just going to go back to bed and sleep, and I'll bring a glass of water with me. I'll be fine for a few hours."

"Okay..." Henry agreed reluctantly. "But I'm coming home for lunch."

That was acceptable. Rumpelstiltskin didn't want Henry giving up his own life because he felt obligated to take care of his feeble old grandfather, but the boy was in a strange place at the moment. Emma had him worried, he could tell. Something about her situation didn't sit right with Rumpelstiltskin either, but he couldn't put a finger on why. If Henry needed to hover, he'd let his grandson hover for a bit and then lovingly push him back to his own life.

True to his word, Rumpelstiltskin went upstairs and got back into bed. He left a glass and a pitcher on his nightstand and crawled under the covers, curling up on his side and dozing off when he realized something: _Oliver._

He couldn't very well keep Oliver when he had a cold.

Fumbling for his cellphone, (Henry had forced him to get a newer model when his flip phone had crapped out on him a few years ago, but made sure the only thing this one lacked any complicated frills,) Rumpelstiltskin dialed Belle's number. He felt proud he only hesitated for about thirty seconds, and didn't actively second guess himself for making this decision.

 _"Hello? Rumple?"_ Belle sounded confused as to why he'd be calling her. _"What is it?"_

"Hey. I, uh, I don't think I can keep Oliver this weekend. I'm coming down with that blasted cold that's been going around, and I'd rather he not catch it."

_"Oh. Oh. Right, okay. I'll tell him that. Are you...are you alright?"_

"I'm alright. Just sort of...dizzy. I'll be alright."

_"Do you need anything?"_

A tiny part of Rumpelstiltskin lit up at the question. _She cares!_   it sang. _She cares!_   But the majority of his being _shriveled_ in shame at the idea of Belle having to come here, risk infecting herself, out of some sort of...obligation. He'd weighed her down enough when they were together, she shouldn't have to shut down the library and come over here to make sure he was resting and drinking plenty of fluids, not when he had to promise Henry he could do that on his own. He wasn't helpless. He was capable of taking care of himself like a functional, healthy adult.

"No."

Maybe his answer was too short, because there was a beat of silence.

_"Okay...so...I hope you get better soon."_

"Yes, thank you. I'll...try."

_"Right. Bye, get well soon."_

"You already said that," he blurted out. Damn it. What the hell?

_"Oh. Sorry. Uh...well just get better then. Bye."_

"Bye..."

He hung up, wincing at his stupidity. Couldn't he just accept her wishes for a speedy recovery without making an idiot out of himself? No. Of course not. This was Belle. By nature of their relationship, he made an idiot out of himself when she did the right thing, and he screwed it all up.

Fuck.

* * *

Not that Belle had any great Valentine's Day plans, mind you, but since Rumple was sick, she'd volunteered to keep Oliver's friends on Friday so that their parent(s) could have a night off. With Opal came her brothers of course, so Belle triple-checked her apartment and the library for anything that might interest two curious five-year-olds. Luckily they'd gotten over their fascination with electrical sockets once Leroy carefully explained how electricity worked.

(They were still convinced the transformers on the light poles were buckets full of lightning, but they weren't sticking things into sockets anymore so that was fine.)

The last "date" on Valentine's Day Belle had particpated in had been a date her father set up two years ago when Belle decided she didn't want to try anymore with Rumpelstiltskin. It had been dreadful.

She'd been underdressed for dinner at Tiana's Place, a flashy little restaurant that opened up as a more ecclectic alternative to the other nice restaurant, Tony's, because her date hadn't said where they were going, so she was wearing a cardigan and ponytail where every other lady had on nice dresses and jewelry. He'd given her a large bouquet of flowers that only could have come from Papa, and that quelled any sweetness Belle found in the gesture. And in addition to spending most of the dinner talking about himself like a sales pitch and not listening to Belle's opinion, he'd expected her to sleep with him since he'd paid for her dinner and flowers.

Belle had been feeling lonesome enough to agree to it, and regretted even that. It was over in _maybe_ fifteen minutes from the time she closed her apartment door, including at least a two minute argument on why he should wear a condom even if she was on the pill, and it ended like the date: Unsatisfying and one-sided.

Rather than feign interest to get a free dinner, Belle thought she'd enjoy acting as den mother (in her own living room,) to six kids who's only expectations on Valentine's Day was getting candy from school.

Oliver didn't like that his father was sick, but, he did like the idea of a sleepover. So did his friends, and their parents.

Leroy and Astrid were grateful, (Astrid had come by and subtly did a sweep around the library looking for potential hazards like Belle had,) and had promised to keep Oliver if Belle needed the favor returned in the future. They didn't have to do that, but it was still nice. Tink had a shift at The Rabbit Hole, but still thought it was a fine idea and had encouraged Marco to get out of the house himself. In the morning they offered to take the kids to Granny's for breakfast so Belle could have a little time to herself, too, which was lovely.

Belle wasn't sure what Regina would get up to with a night to herself, but had recieved instructions to call her if Robbi needed to come home. She trusted her niece would be fine, but Belle was reminded, again, that the girl was still adjusting from being isolated with Zelena most of the time. She might not like sleeping in a different place.

Robbi also didn't like mushrooms on pizza, and if Belle could give her a hand braiding her hair for the night it would save lots of time in the morning. Belle didn't know whether to smile at what a good mother Regina was for Robbi, or cry at how unfair it was Robin Hood would never get to see it.

At school, everything was quiet, Oliver said. He hadn't been picked on, hadn't been called names, hadn't had to help Opal get her possessions back. Tommy had something smart to say about Garrick wearing one black sneaker and one blue one on Wednesday, but so had everyone really, even Mr. Crane. Phil hadn't talked to Opal all week, something she was pleased with. The only thing Neal did was get huffy that Robbi wouldn't play with him when he asked her to, and someone on the playground had nipped that in the bud.

And while she was suspicious this peace wouldn't last, Belle was also hopeful it might stick.

So, Friday, stocked with snacks, a few board games, and a stack of movies to choose from, Belle and Oliver were well-prepared to host a sleepover that seemed like a lovely way to close out what had started as a tense week. Her son was in good spirits, and in turn that made Belle feel confident things were looking up.

Enough that, while Oliver was at school Friday, Belle decided to do something she was still afraid would come back and bite her in the ass, but was more hopeful of as being a gesture of kindness.

She picked up a bouquet of flowers at the pharmacy, and arranged them in a cheap white plastic vase so the blooms made the vase look less cheap. She tied a glittering gold ribbon around the vase with a generic _**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY**_ gift tag she didn't sign, (her bravery only went so far,) and snuck over to Rumple's house to leave them on the porch. They weren't roses, just a sort of assorted wildflower bunch in cheery white and pink and red, with greenery and a sparkly red spiral thingie for decoration. Just something pretty and fresh.

Since Henry had Violet, and Rumple had it ingrained in his head that he was a burden on his loved ones, it was likely her estranged husband would be spending Valentine's Day all by himself with a cold. He might like something from an anonymous friend. Something to brighten up that big empty house...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm contemplating writing a ficlet. A ficlet that might beget a series of ficlets. I have salty plot bunnies gnawing at my brain over Emma Swan proposal/marriages, and the biggest one wants to see the one in this 'verse most of all. I can assure you it is not romantic, and was not "her fault", either. This ficlet will probably extend to how Zelena's never going to change, how the Charmings are willfully blind to reality, and some Rumbelle stuff, of course. Thoughts? Questions for my ask box over on Tumblr? Hmm?


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized Tink's name is spelt "Tinker Bell" not "Tinkerbelle" and I'm attempting to fix that. Also, I did some number-crunching and editing to the birthdates of the children: Oliver's birthday is in May, Robbi's is in September.
> 
> Oh--And I might be slow in getting there, but I'm sure as hell gonna be more respectful to Beauty and the Beast than Accident and Emergency are when all is said and done. *viciously waves a rebellious flag with a chipped cup sigil*

Some point between Henry leaving home after lunch, and coming back after five, someone had left a flower vase on the porch. Rumpelstiltskin had no idea when because he'd been drifting in and out of sleep all day, but, he and Henry had studied the flowers carefully trying to discern who had left them. They were some wildflowers, in shades of white and pink, and some sparkly filler pieces. The vase was a cheap plastic one, with a golded ribbon tied around the middle and an unsigned tag wishing the recipient a Happy Valentine's Day.

They assumed that the flowers were meant for him, only because of the sparkling ribbon tied in a neat bow. For a Valentine's Day arrangement, pink, white, red, or some other romantic color would have been used. The anonymous gifter must've had a strange peculiar sense of humor.

Henry was as puzzled as Rumpelstiltskin, so that left him out. Oliver was at school and had a sleepover to prepare for, as he'd told him over the phone yesterday. Belle was currently on the outs with her father, and wasn't likely to go to him for flowers anyway. And he couldn't think of a reason why she'd give him flowers anyway. But they were pretty things, so he set them an end table near the living room sofa where they were in plain view. It was a cheerful, if peculiar, present to find on his porch. Better than burning dog crap at least.

It reminded him, though, that it was Valentine's Day.

His first February 14th in this land: He'd repossessed Moe French's van, and beat the shit out of the man with his cane when Regina had arranged a burglary. The chipped cup he'd protected for over thirty years had been lying in a velvet bag in they study's safe for the past decade, broken into pieces he'd picked out the leaves and dirt where he'd shattered it in order to escape Merida's Dark Swan Enforced training camp. He never had gotten around to repairing that. Or a lot of things...

He hated Valentine's Day.

That was the one holiday he'd been scared to death of most of all whenever he and Belle were doing okay. He was scared to death he'd over do something with a gesture, and most of the time he thought she agreed.

The best Valentine's Day they'd had together had been a non-romantic dinner at Granny's with Oliver between them at the counter, eating hamburgers and a milkshake. Oliver couldn't decide if he wanted a chocolate or strawberry shake, so he'd taken bits of his parents' shakes instead. A clever son they had, that was for sure. Rumpelstiltskin had walked them home across the street, and Belle had deigned to give him a sweet, chaste little kiss that warmed him to his toes.

It was a fond memory soured by the fact that it had been just a short month before that disastrous final encounter where Belle found a spellbook in his nightstand. Yay.

Henry had wanted to stay home to keep him company, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn't having that. He told Henry to go out and have a nice time with Violet, he'd just be sitting at home watching The Quiet Man and considering a bowl of ice cream. (One of the better inventions of this land, to be sure.) His grandson had gotten Violet a tacky card that had a bumblebee on the front and said _Bee my Valentine?,_ but more practically, he'd gotten her new winter hat. Her other hat had been chewed up by a dog and she hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet, so she was walking around half-blinded by the hood of her bulky coat in an effort to keep her ears warm.

Not romantic exactly, but more than likely appreciated.

Rumpelstiltskin supposed if Henry got anything from his other grandfather, it was the ability to be charming. The first gift Rumpelstiltskin had given Belle was probably a pillow, and he'd told her to use it to muffle the homesick sobs she was making late at night in her little dungeon cell. He upgraded her to a room within a few short months, but thinking about the cell now and how she spent thirty years locked up made his stomach turn sour.

What the hell did that lovely girl ever see in him, he wondered, stroking a delicate flower petal idly.

* * *

Opal never understood the jokes about women taking longer to get dressed then men. For one thing, duh, if you want them to smell nice and put on makeup and fix their hair and put on a pretty dress, that takes some time, dude. For another, the only reason Mom took a hair longer to get done was because she had hair to do, and Dad didn't. But what really made them late leaving the house was Peter and Joseph popping off.

A few weeks ago, Joseph told her that he'd adopted a cat named Sam. He was a fat gray cat with a big belly that liked sardines and peanut butter, though not at the same time. Sam was his cat, but since Joseph couldn't figure out how to put a collar on him or get Sam in the house, he was free to roam outside. That was why Opal had never seen him, of course.

Usually Sam didn't cause any trouble, being imaginary, but Peter and Joseph sometimes vanished at home and always popped up outside saying he'd been playing with/feeding Sam. Dad was planning on talking to them about that later, but right now they were having a sleepover with Oli while Mom and Dad had "the night off" to go to Tony's for dinner. Dad was wearing shoes that weren't work boots, and Mom had put on lipstick. It was a fancy dinner date, to be sure.

Speaking of Italian, Miss Belle ordered them a pizza. Opal ate anything on a pizza, but Oliver didn't like the green bell peppers on a supreme pizza. Robbi apparently hated mushrooms, and Garrick had long declared Hawaiian pizza was unholy. So after a peek at the menu, Miss Belle ordered a straight pepperoni pizza. Peter picked the pepperonis off his slice because he was being difficult, but Joseph ate them so no harm, no foul.

After dinner, Opal and Oliver had a look at their board games. Miss Belle had a great selection, but like pizza, board games had to be chosen carefully for the present company. Garrick and her little brothers had short attention spans, so Life was off the board. Oliver and Miss Belle had an unfair, brainiac advantage when it came to Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. Monopoly could be fun but again, you had to pay attention and be great at math. (It was a good game to play in teams with her uncles though, especially if you wound up on Uncle Happy's team.) Luckily they didn't have Operation.

Operation made Opal want to commit extreme acts of violence with all that buzzing. Ugh. So Clue then. Clue was a fun game, a nice murder to get the ball rolling between friends.

"How do you play?" Robbi asked, eyeing the box with all the shifty characters on it curiously.

Opal had always thought of Robbi as being stuck-up until recently. She only played with the Nolan kids and their friends, she didn't talk to anybody, and she'd irritate the crap out of you when she tried to flex her atrophied social muscles. Lately though, since Robbi started distancing herself from Neal and her mother, she seemed...different. You used to never know what Robbi you were going to get if you had to talk to her, but now Opal was starting to think that was just because Robbi didn't know how to act like herself to start with. She'd never even been to a sleepover before, and was so happy she'd been invited over she hugged Oli. It was kind of sad, really.

What did she do when she lived with her mom if she didn't play board games or help with dinner or have friends come over and vice versa?

"Haven't you ever played Clue before?" Oliver asked, sliding the three little cards into the envelope. "It's one of Henry's favorite games, I would've thought you'd have played it with him before."

"No...is it like Risk? Because I'm not very good at Risk. At least, I'm not good enough to beat Aunt Regina. She always conquors the board."

(Miss Belle might've muttered something like "of course she does", but she was across the room making herself a cup of tea, it was hard to tell...)

"Nope. Not like Risk. This is a pretty easy game once you get the hang of it. First," Oliver held up a finger. "The backstory: Six people are at the mansion of Mr. Black for a dinner party. One of the characters actually used to be a maid, Mrs. White, but they replaced her with Dr. Orchid years ago, so they're all guests now. At some point in the evening, Mr. Black-Mr. Boddy in some adaptations but I prefer the original color-coded system,-is found dead as a doornail."

Robbi's eyes widened. "Are we supposed to kill him? That's awful! What kind of game is this?"

"What? No, we don't kill him-"

"Oh my god is that a knife in the box?" Robbi's blue eyes got even bigger as she took in the tokens representing the murder weapons. "And a gun? Who decided this was a kids game?!"

"Waddingtons initially," Miss Belle said, sitting on the sofa with her tea. "Currently Hasbro."

Oliver nodded. "Since Mr. Black's been gruesomely murdered, it's up to we, the players slash guests, to solve the mystery of who did it. Give her a sheet Garrick."

Garrick obliged, and handed Robbi a cheap pencil they kept in the box, too. "To solve the murder, we start looking for clues. Where the murder happened, who did it, and with what weapon. There's a person, place, and thing card in the envelope, and that's the answer. To figure out what those are, we check off what didn't happen on these lists, and you get to look at the cards of the person to your left. So you check my cards, and Peter and Joseph check yours."

Opal grinned at her little brothers. Joseph had the paper and pencil, and Peter snatched up the purple Professor Plum token they liked playing best. She had to help them with the words, but together they did pretty well. As long as they didn't start fighting over who got to roll the die...

"Okay..." Robbi nodded, and Oli started shuffling the remaining cards. "So do I pick a token now? Because I'll fight you for that green one Garrick."

"No way, I'm always Mr. Green."

"I think he's a priest or something, look at the box," Opal nodded at the lid. "See his collarino?"

"His what?"

Oliver held up the lid. "Hey Mama, do you want to play?"

"Not this round," she shook her head, opening a book, but Opal wasn't fooled. Miss Belle could see everything even if she was reading. Being a mom meant you had eyes in the back of your head and everywhere else. "You go on without me. Let me know if you need help."

"Okay, so, Robbi. Each of these colored plastic tokens represents one of the suspects. Peter and Joseph are Professor Plum, Opal is always Dr. Orchid-"

"I'm a botanist," Opal grinned, wiggling the pinkish token in the blonde girl's direction. "I know all the poisonous plants, I'm gonna poison your tea. Or am I...?" Robbi's eyes widened nervously. "In the game. Just in the game. Just Dr. Orchid."

"O-oh...okay..."

"I dunno what Plum does," Joseph shrugged. "But he's a pr'fessor so he's smart too. An' there's two of us."

"We're Plums." Peter agreed.

Oliver rolled his eyes a little bit, picking up the last three tokens. "Colonel Mustard is a retired military man, of course. Mrs. Peacock is a wealthy widow, and she's usually my piece unless Mama's playing. And the red token is Miss Scarlet, she's like a movie star or something fancy like that."

"Ooh! Then I'll be her!" Robbi plucked the red token out of his hand. "You can keep Father Green or whatever he is Garrick."

"Hmph, spoilsport," Garrick sniffed jokingly. "Wait until you come across Mr. Green in a dark alley. Or the library, I guess. Whatever comes first!"

As it turned out, in the first game, it was Mrs. Peacock in the Kitchen with a Pipe. Just like Opal suspected. Oliver had guessed wrong, he thought it was the Rope, so he had to sit out on the rest of the game. But since he had the blue token, Garrick started giggling.

"You were totally covering your tracks."

"No I wasn't! I was playing to win!"

"You would have ratted yourself out? You're a self-double crosser!"

Oliver sat up straighter. "I'd still have won. But only if I'd used strangulation rather than blunt force trauma."

God he was such a nerd. Opal grabbed the closest pillow, a throw pillow Garrick had been using as a cushion on the floor when he was playing checkers, and whacked him in his skinny chest. Oliver yelped, falling right over on his back like a toppled turtle.

"That's no excuse for sloppy detective work, Gold!"

The next game, Opal had to eat her words a bit. She was certain that Dr. Orchid (awkward...) had done it in the Library with a Candlestick. It turned out to be Mrs. Peacock again though. She had to sit out while the other players made a dash for the center of the room, and this time her little Plum brothers won. Peter threw their cards up in the air, which had to be picked up. (They lost the Ballroom card for a minute.) This time Robbi started giggling.

"Oh my god. You brained the host with Lumiere."

Considering his mother was the Belle, considering that Oliver's token had been the murderer twice in a row, and considering the semi-embarrassed tone Robbi spoke in: There was really nothing to do but laugh like a hyena at that turn of events.

Even Miss Belle laughed when Garrick started humming "Be Our Guest" until Oliver threw the pillow at him.

* * *

Robbi had never been to a sleepover before. She'd only slept over at Mum's farmhouse, and Aunt Regina's mansion. And a few nights in the hospital, but that didn't really count since she was hurt at the time. Right? Right.

She hadn't really been nervous until they'd spread out blankets and pillows on the floor and turned off all the lights except one lamp. Oliver's little bedroom wasn't big enough for all of them, so he dragged his pillow and blanket out and bedded down with them. It was like indoor camping, Robbi supposed. She'd never really been camping before, except for when she was a baby, but she didn't remember that. Mr. Nolan said he'd take her camping with him and Neal when it got warm, but since she wasn't friends with Neal anymore, she guessed she wouldn't get to do that.

That wasn't the reason Robbi couldn't sleep of course.

Miss Belle told them all goodnight, adjusted a blanket over Peter and Joseph, and went to her room. She'd left it cracked open in case they needed her, she said, but Robbi was determined not to need her. This was the one and only sleepover she'd ever been on. If she wimped out, then Aunt Regina might not think she could handle another one. And except for this sleeping part, Robbi had liked it. But she couldn't sleep, and she knew why.

When Robbi turned four, Aunt Regina gave her a stuffed orange-and-white fox with black shiny eyes. Diana was the prettiest name Robbi'd ever heard, and so she'd named her pretty fox just that. And even though Robbi couldn't take care of a pet, she took very good care of Diana. She was the first thing she'd grabbed when she was packing to live with Aunt Regina, and the first thing Mum brought when Robbi had been in the hospital after that zombie attacked her.

Diana was tucked carefully into Robbi's backpack at the foot of the couch, maybe ten feet away...but Robbi couldn't get her. That would be silly. That's what Mum would say, probably.

Neal had been making fun of a kid on the playground that had brought a teddy bear with him last year. The kid was a first grader just out of kindergarten, and Neal and Tommy were making fun of him from across the yard saying he was a baby.

And Robbi wasn't a baby, she was ten. Practically eleven. Garrick and Opal and Oliver would probably think she was being silly too, even if they didn't _say_ anything. Opal was so tough, the things that went bump in the night were probably afraid of her. Her little brothers were sound asleep, and they didn't need a special toy either!

But...

Robbi waited for sleep to steal over her, but it never did. She had her eyes shut and everything, but after awhile the only thing that changed was that Oliver and Garrick started snoring. That actually gave Robbi an idea: What if she got Diana out of her backpack while everyone was asleep? She'd jut hold her a little, and then put her back, so nobody had to know she had a baby toy in her backpack. Yeah.

Wiggling out from under her blanket, Robbi crawled on her hands and knees to her backpack. She undid the zipper very slowly, trying to keep silent. She grabbed Diana's head and tugged her out, and turned around to crawl back with her fox tucked under her arm when she saw Oliver was sitting up, watching her.

The only reason Robbi didn't scream was because Oliver looked sorta like a baby bird with his hair sticking up in all directions from laying on the pillow. He looked sorta goofy like that. Hard to be afraid of someone else's bedhead...

She wondered if she could hide Diana behind her back or not.

"What are you doing?"

Nope.

"Nothing...um...you're dreaming."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "If I were dreaming, Opal wouldn't be snoring."

Oh. That was Opal? Huh. And Robbi thought only boys snored, but nope, Opal was laying on her back and snoring. Huh. Look at that. Maybe Oliver would and she could (gently) cram Diana out of sight...

Instead, Oliver looked right at Diana's head. "What's that?"

"Um..." Robbi squirmed a minute before deciding to get the heckling over with, and held up Diana. "This is Diana."

"Right. So why are you sneaking around?"

"Because...I didn't...want you to make fun of...me?"

Oliver frowned, his head tilting to the side. "Why would I make fun of you? Every kid has a favorite toy."

"Yeah, but..." Robbi shifted, unconciously squeezing Diana. "They don't all sleep with them still."

He looked at her for a minute. Robbi hadn't been up close and personal with Mr. Gold a lot, but she thought Oliver looked a like his dad. At least how he'd looked Monday at the hearing, all poker-faced and quiet.

"I bring a ragdoll with me when I sleepover at another house."

"What?"

"His name is Bubs. I was like three when I named him," Oliver shrugged. "He's sitting in there on my bed. It's my house and I know where he is, so I didn't bring him out. Opal's blanket she brought is her favorite blanket in the world, that's why she didn't bring a toy. Garrick doesn't have any security items, but that lamp there that's on is because he's afraid of the dark. So you've got a fox. That's just your thing."

Robbi wouldn't have believed Oliver had a ragdoll. Dolls were for girls, right? But...he didn't have much of a reason for lying. Actually, for a boy that was probably only nice to her because she was Garrick's friend, Oliver had been nicer to her than most kids were. And Opal was pretty nice, too. Robbi had said some mean things to her in the past, so she was still suspicious, but she was also pretty polite now. She let Robbi pick off her bowl of popcorn tonight without complaining.

"So you don't...it's silly?"

"I have a ragdoll," Oliver repeated like he was explaining something. "Do you think I'm girly and inferior?"

"No?"

"Then you're not a baby...Neal told you that, didn't he?"

Robbi nodded slowly, crawling back to her "nest" on the floor.

"Hmm. Sometimes I wonder about that kid," Oliver hummed, lying down on his back. "Mama said once that bullies are just insecure. I think Papa said something like that too once. What do you think Neal has to be insecure about to be so mean to other kids?"

Robbi didn't know. She knew she'd been snappish and rude before because she didn't know how to fit in...but Neal was popular and had lots of friends. If anything, he ought to be as nice as his sister Ruth. But he wasn't...not always. He'd tried being nice to Robbi at school today, but it made Robbi feel uncomfortable because she thought he might just be faking it, and then Mr. Whitney called her over to ask if she was okay and Neal stopped.

"I dunno. I just know I don't miss being friends with him as much as I thought I might. But-" Robbi cut herself off. Oliver didn't want to hear about that.

"But what?" he asked, propping his head up on his elbow to see over Garrick.

"Well...Mr. Nolan said he'd take us camping this year when it warmed up, if I wanted to go. I've never been camping before, Mum said I wouldn't like it."

Oliver shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I've never been camping either. Well, not really. My papa's got a cabin out in the woods, so I've never been camping where you've got to _go_ behind the bushes. Maybe you should ask Tink."

"Why her?" Robbi frowned. Dads took you camping, right? Well, Garrick's dad wasn't in Storybrooke, and his grandpa was kind of old. Maybe Tinker Bell had to step in-

"She was stuck on Neverland for years," Oliver shrugged. "She had a hideout and everything. I'll bet she could take you camping if you asked her."

"Neverland? Oh, right, she's _Tinker Bell_..." Robbi thought a minute. "She wasn't friends with Peter Pan, was she? Not like the movie?"

Oliver made a face. "I don't think so. Peter Pan was bad news. Did you know he was Papa's father?"

Robbi hadn't been sure, but she thought she'd heard that somewhere. But Pan was a creepy immortal teenager/kid, right? "How did...that work? A kid can't have a kid, right?"

"Papa told me what happened once. Just once, he said he didn't want to tell me again...it's an awful story," Oliver's voice got quiet. "His father was sort of...well I think he was a lot like Hook is. He drank a lot, he gambled, he didn't have a job, and he didn't take care of Papa when he was a little boy."

It was hard to imagine Mr. Gold as being a little boy. Robbi closed her eyes and imagined a kid that looked like Oliver a few years ago, small and pale, but with brown eyes instead of blue.

"Then one day he left Papa with two old spinners, and they gave Papa a magic bean so he could go somewhere new and start over. But even though Pan was awful, you only get one father, and Papa loved him. So he showed Pan the bean, and said they could go anywhere together...only Pan chose Neverland, because when he was a boy it was the greatest place he'd ever been. But he was a man now, and the magic wouldn't work for him...so he sent Papa away, a big black shadow carried him back to the Enchanted Forest and left him there with the spinners. That's where Papa grew up."

Robbi's eyes opened. "Why would his father do that to him? Didn't he love him?"

Oliver shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe some people don't care for their kids as much as they should. Sometimes they make mistakes, too. Big ones."

"Like...your dad?"

Oliver laid back down, then, so Robbi couldn't see his face anymore. He was quiet for a minute.

"Everyone says Papa makes lots of mistakes. So does he. But I don't think he loves me any less than I love him, though."

"That's good." Robbi said quietly, laying down, too.

She hugged Diana tight, arranging the blanket over both of them. Everything was quiet and still in the apartment, except for Opal and Garrick's snoring and a snuffly noise Peter made when he rolled over, the sofa creaking quietly. Some of Oliver's words ran circles in Robbi's head very noisily though. So noisy she couldn't make out what was bugging her about it...

Until after she got up and let Peter and Joseph look at Diana because they thought someone had left her a present overnight...

Until after she'd sat on Miss Belle's bed watching her help Opal with a stubborn knot that was resisting Robbi's detangling spray...

It wasn't until Garrick's grandfather and mother showed up and walked them all across the street to eat breakfast at the diner while Miss Belle said she was going to stay home for a bit, that Robbi finally realized what it was that had been bothering her while she looked down at her apple cinnamon pancakes:

Had Mum cared for Robbi like she should?

* * *

The sleepover had gone splendidly. Belle was glad Robbi hadn't had any trouble, that Peter and Joseph didn't rearrange her books as a staircase or break out in the middle of the night, and most of all, that Oliver had a good time with his friends. He hadn't had much time to enjoy being a kid lately, seeing him get whacked with pillows was a comfort of sorts.

There was only one mild issue, which was that Opal had quarter-sized knot in her brown hair that refused to detangle until Robbi generously donated some spray Regina sent for her niece's hair. But that was combed out after a time, and then once all the kids were dressed, Tink and Marco came over to take them to breakfast.

Belle had all the blankets picked up and folded in no time. She rounded up the scattered belongings she knew weren't Oliver's and put them on the coffee table to speed up the repacking process later. Diana, Robbi's toy fox, had been placed atop her pillow. The children, (except the twins,) were old to pick up after themselves, so they hadn't made a big mess of the apartment. More like a series of little messes that were neatened before moving on to the next mess.

Long story short: Belle was done quickly. She sat down to some toast slathered with strawberry jam and butter and a hot cup of tea, which was breakfast, and then sat down on the sofa and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now. She didn't feel like taking a bath or indulging in junk food, she wasn't sure she wanted to watch a movie. She did try to read a book but her brain kept drifting back to the flowers she left on Rumple's doorstep.

It was probably the most cowardly act of kindness she'd ever done: Just dropping an unsigned vase of flowers on his porch as a surprise, and fleeing. She didn't even ring the doorbell and run, which would have been childish, but at least she would've been _certain_ he got them.

It might seem odd if she called to ask, _"Did you get any flowers with an unsigned card?"_

Well, maybe she could live without knowing if he got the flowers. Though she'd put them right on the doormat, you couldn't come or go without tripping over them. But her phone was in her hand, now, like a loaded gun, and Belle couldn't resist pulling the trigger. She dialed Rumpelstiltskin's number and listened to the ringing. She almost hung up because it was taking so long for him to answer, but then a stuffy voice answered:

_"Hello?"_

"Uh..." Belle glanced at the clock. It was almost nine now, it wasn't too early. Right? "Hi. It's Belle."

_"Is something wrong?"_

"What? No, no, I just, um...Oliver and his friends had a fine time. They're at the diner eating breakfast now, I had some time so I thought I'd...well, how are you today?"

_"I'm...okay, I suppose. Tired, not very hungry, my nose is running like a faucet, but nothing out of the ordinary for a cold I suppose."_

"Mm," Belle nodded. It was very hard for her to imagine Rumple with a cold, the only times he'd been sick as far as she knew was when Killian stabbed him with that poisoned hook in New York, and then when the Darkness was eating his heart alive. Granted the first time probably didn't count because it was poison, not an illness...and the second example was really more like a curse-

_"I'm sorry."_

"What?"

Rumple coughed on the other end of the line before answering. _"I, uh, I'm sorry. For uh, for last time we talked. I was quite short with you-"_

"What? Oh, no, no, you weren't short-"

_"No I was, I'm sorry. I-"_

"Rumple you're sick, people get crabby when they're sick, it's okay."

_"I still shouldn't have been so...so gruff. Um. H-how are you today? Is your apartment still standing?"_

"Oh. I'm fine, fine. I don't even have a cold." _'Obviously. Good lord Belle...'_   "The apartment is still standing. The twins didn't even try building a staircase out of books."

There was an exhale on the other end that Belle could picture the expression on his face for: His eyes half closed and a little smile curling his lips, that huff of air snorting out his nose like a laugh and a sigh all in one. She wondered if he was laying in the bed or curled up on the couch, then realized she was imagining him with his longish brown hair rather than his short silver-white hair. Then she realized she was imagining him period, and that just wasn't right.

 _"I see. Well you're lucky,"_ Rumple said, almost teasingly. _"I'm blaming Henry for this cold. Apparently Emma was sick with it, her little one brought it home, naturally. I'm not sure why he or Regina didn't catch it, but it's most unfair. At least in this realm they have reasonably priced over the counter medications."_

Belle fully understood that: She was just pleased she'd never been so ill the physician tried to bleed her, honestly.

"How are things at school?"

"Well, while Now's on her sabbatical, Mr. Whitney is substituting. He's a very nice, very fair man. Oliver says he's keeping everything orderly in the classroom, and outside of it. He even put a stop to things quickly when Neal got a bit...pushy, when Robbi decided she wasn't going to be friends with him anymore."

_"Good for her."_

"Rumple."

"What? If he makes fun of her friends when she doesn't spend time with him when he's being a little prat, then you can't blame her."

Belle did agree. It wasn't anything personal, it was actually quite sensible really. If Neal did want to be friends with Robbi, he'd just have to spend some time reorienting himself and making better choices...

Those thoughts were hitting a disturbing, familiar chord now and Belle changed the subject: "What are you doing right now?"

_"Lying on the sofa, mostly. Yourself?"_

"Sitting on the sofa, as a matter of fact."

_"Mm..."_

"Have you had anything to eat yet?"

_"Not very hungry."_

"You have to eat something."

_"I know that but it won't take if I force myself to eat. I'll probably make some tea in a minute."_

"Tea is good," Belle nodded slowly. "Nothing seems quite so bleak after a cup of tea."

_"Mmhmm."_

It was quiet for a moment. It popped up on Belle's tongue to ask if he was warm, if he needed anything, if he thought he could swallow down some soup, but she quashed the questions immediately because those seemed like bad ideas. She couldn't voice why they were bad ideas beyond the chilly dread prickling her spine at how he might recieve them. Would they be welcomed? Viewed poorly? Rejected outright?

She wasn't so sure he'd want her hovering over him, anyway, so she just listened to the barely-audible sound of his breathing.

Finally, after about thirty seconds of total silence that felt much, much longer, Rumple hummed.

_"I guess that's it."_

"Yeah, um, so let me know...if you need anything."

_"Fine. Have a good day, Belle."_

"Bye," she smiled, though he couldn't see it. It was for the best because it felt more like a wince, or perhaps a grimace. She hung up quickly and dropped her phone before she could do or say anything to make it more awkward, and then groaned, slumping on the couch.

Would they _ever_ be able to talk without stumbling over words again?


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it's gonna be okay, just don't freak out.

Mr. Whitney, the substitute while Mrs. Nolan was "taking a vacation", (who might've been a White Knight from Wonderland, Oliver wasn't sure,) had spent two weeks establishing that Neal's free reign of terror was over while he was around. Neal had tried to start something the very first day Mr. Whitney took charge by pestering Robbi. In contrast, Oliver noted, Phil started leaving Opal alone. He had apologized to her before school let out Tuesday, for the mines, and said he wouldn't bother her anymore.

"Cool."

Phil waited. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool," Opal nodded. "Thanks."

"So we're...we're good now. Right?"

"No. I accept your apology and hope you have a nice day, but I don't like you," she shrugged. "So...bye."

Phil made a face like a petulant, kicked puppy and slunk off, but, he did leave them alone. Tommy and Neal didn't let up until halfway through the first week, and even then, Tommy was still an ass. He tripped Oliver in the hallway when everybody was leaving the classroom and nobody caught it, even though he and Neal started snickering.

Which, Opal explained, was why she said what she did to Phil: "They haven't changed. They're just scared of getting caught again."

Oliver agreed, but at the same time, maybe things were changing a little.

Robbi even said that her aunt told her that the Henry's outburst to his grandmother must've shocked them enough that they'd ground Neal until his behavior started improving. Apparently Valentine's Day weekend, Ruth had been going on about how some kid in her classroom gave her a valentine with an 'X' signed at the bottom of it, and Neal told her to "shut up and stop being an idiot," so it must've been obvious to them _at last_ that his bad attitude wasn't just at school.

As she was still friends with Ruth Nolan, lived with the mayor, and, through Ruth, was in contact with Cleo and Stephanie often, Robbi turned out to be quite the pair of eyes and ears. She hadn't thought much of it until now, but it made for some pretty interesting reports during recess and at lunch.

Like Phil Briars wasn't just grounded until his behavior improved: He was forbidden from going to play at Neal or Tommy's house, and wasn't supposed to be around Hook period.

The latter rules applied to his little sister Stephanie, too, which had caused some problems initially as Cleo Jones and Stephanie were best friends, but playdates at Lydia's house solved that problem admirably. The Briars were taking this much more seriously than the Nolans, who were still serious about it though. The Hermans were the only ones that hadn't seemed to get the memo, and Tommy's behavior hadn't changed all that much in the past two weeks.

Today, Friday, was the last day of February. It was also the last day Mr. Whitney would be subbing, and Monday morning, Mrs. Nolan would take over again. For better or worse, that was the question. Papa had a cold last week, but he wasn't contagious anymore so Oliver was going over to his place and learn how to stitch these blocks together to make a scarf, as soon as he finished this last one.

Oliver had forgot to bring the next Percy Jackson book to school. So, while Opal and Garrick were arguing over whether Bianca di Angelo was really dead since they hadn't found a body, Robbi kept trying to prod Oliver for spoilers about Annabeth and Percy while he worked to finish his last knit block...

"No book today?" Aeronwy asked, wandering over to them with her hood pulled up over her dark hair.

They all kinda stopped and stared because...well...nobody really spoke to them over here unless the Three Stooges wanted to start some shit. Ruth sometimes asked Robbi to come play, (Ruth was kind of dumb, but she wasn't mean like Neal, so they'd told Robbi that was fine,) but...there were two relatively normal young ladies standing in front of them that were not Ruth Nolan.

Beside Aeronwy was Alyssa Stilton, who Oliver didn't know extremely well, but her brown hair and big white teeth made her look very mouse-like. Fitting, since he'd heard her parents were mice from Cinderella's cupboard. Like Mrs. Nolan and the dwarves, though, Cinderella didn't associate with the mice that saved her ass anymore...

While Oliver was frozen like a dear in the headlights, Alyssa saw his knitting and she _squeaked_.

"Ooh! What a pretty color!" she chirped, leaning forwards so much he thought she'd rub her face on the pale blue block. "I didn't know you knit! What're you making?"

"A...a scarf. Block scarf."

He thought Opal was snickering at him now, great.

"It looks good!" Alyssa praised, and now Aeronwy was looking at it, too, through her glasses. Aerowyn was clever, studious, and quiet where Alyssa was much chattier, but they were best friends for some reason. Some kids called them the "A-Team" because their names started with A. Oliver thought that was stupid, himself. "My mom tried teaching me how to knit, but my stitches are never this neat."

"Um...thank you...thanks."

"My mother doesn't knit, but she does sew," Aeronwy said, tucking her hands into her pockets. Anybody who'd seen Guinevere and Aeronwy would know they were mother and daughter, with their tan skin and black hair and pretty eyes. "She says embroidery is a skill every lady should know."

"I don't think Aunt Regina knows how to," Robbi pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Why's that, anyway?"

"Because to embroider, you need to know how to sew. And if you didn't know how to sew in Camelot, you would be running around naked and cold."

Garrick giggled. "That's a pretty good reason. I think Grandpa can sew some, like buttons and socks and stuff."

"So does my dad," Aeronwy smiled. "I guess that naked and cold rule applies to knights and housewives alike."

"Well! My family'd be outta luck," Opal sighed dramatically. "Mom and Dad can't make a stitch between them. Maybe we could trade for clothing, instead. Or steal it."

Nearby, Tommy and Neal were throwing a ball. They had kept to themselves mostly, but Tommy missed the ball and came scurrying closer to grab it. He was close enough by the time they were talking about sewing that he must've heard them, because he started snickering, and pointed directly at Oliver. "Or you could just marry Oliver. I bet he's a great little housewife."

God. Why? Everyone in the Enchanted Forest was terrified of Papa, and who do you think taught Oliver how to do those things? Jefferson could sew, too, hell, even the reverse was true: Granny could weld and she and Dorothy both had crossbows. It was just the way Tommy sounded that was irritating, like Oliver was inferior for knowing how to stab a needle through fabric or work knots into string to make a scarf. It was irritation making his face red, not embarrassment, but from the way Tommy was grinning you'd think he won a victory. Oliver stuffed his knitting into his backpack before the moron tried to unravel it or something.

Then, Opal was slinging her arm around his shoulders. He saw she was grinning in that smug, false way that meant something as acidic as vinegar was about to drip from her lips.

"I think you're on to something there, you poor, sad, jealous thing you."

Just _that_ smile on Opal's face made Oliver grin back, but Alyssa and Robbi's giggles made Tommy turn bright pink and bristly, and that was even funnier.

"What the hell is there to be jealous of, you weirdo?" he growled.

Oliver held in his laughter for a moment longer. "Because of my good marrigible qualities while you're doomed to be a poor spinster?"

Tommy's head greatly resembled a cherry tomato when the kids around Oliver burst into laughter. Garrick almost fell off the bench and nearly took Robbi with him, and Opal slumped against his side helplessly. Even Aeronwy was giggling behind her hands. Tommy scowled, stamped his foot, (actually _stamped_ his foot, Oliver thought that was just a saying,) and stomped away to where he and Neal had been throwing the ball around.

"I think he asked for that," Aeronwy bit her lip, tugging on Alyssa's arm as the bell started to ring. "See you guys later!"

"Good luck with your scarf Oliver!" Alyssa added.

They joined the herd going back inside, but Oliver had to take a minute to grab his backpack. And they start giggling all over again because Garrick now had a loud case of hiccups. It was a good day at school, (even though Neal and Tommy kept shooting him dirty looks,) and he'd had a good night at Papa's house, too.

Papa had gotten sick, and he didn't want Oliver to catch his cold. Honestly, though, Oliver felt a little nervous. He wasn't sure how Papa's depression and stuff would mix with a cold, because you felt awful when you were sick, right? Fortunately Papa got better, and they talked on the phone some over the last week. Papa was okay. When Oliver arrived tonight, the only thing different he noticed was an empty vase sitting on the end table near the sofa.

"What's with the vase, Papa?"

"Mm? Oh. That. Someone left a vase of flowers on my porch Friday. At least I think it was for me, it has a gold ribbon around it," he shrugged. "The flowers didn't last very long, but I decided to keep the vase."

Huh. Weird. Who'd send flowers to Papa?

Oliver wasn't sure who would do that because, while Mama wasn't angry at him anymore, Oliver didn't think she'd buy flowers for him. Plus, Mama didn't give anyone flowers because Moe was the florist, and he was really judgy about why she would be buying flowers. Henry said he didn't know who did it, and Henry also couldn't tie a ribbon bow like that to save his life. Hmm. It was a mystery, one that Oliver puzzled over while they made cinnamon rolls for tomorrow morning...

* * *

Neal had been having a rough two weeks, and it was Oliver's fault. Him and his parents.

Mom hadn't been fired because of them, but she hadn't been teaching since then. Henry paid her a visit or something, and he must've messed with her head because now she and Dad were riding Neal for no good reason.

Opal started the fight! Why did he have to apologize when she and Oliver didn't have to? Then he got in trouble for telling Ruth she was an idiot when she was babbling about some boy signing her Valentine card with an 'x' at the bottom, and he was forbidden from going anywhere until his "behavior improved". Neal had never been grounded before, but it sucked, and it was Oliver's fault.

Oliver's mom, Belle, ran the library, and she used to watch Neal when he was very little, so he'd been told. He just knew it was her fault he had to go back to kindergarten after first grade because she told his parents he was too stupid. Naturally, because he was a little freak, Oliver had been reading before he was even in kindergarten to start with. Killian told him not to feel bad about that, because he hadn't learned how to read until he was a teenager, but it was still humiliating that Neal could be easily defeated just by the font of a word.

Tommy didn't pick on Neal for not being able to read. He was terrible at spelling, and they both agreed years ago that English was a stupid subject. You _speak_ English, who needs to write it down? They'd been friends for years, and Tommy was what Neal liked to think of as his smart friend. (He hadn't been held back in school.) He was an idea guy. Some of them were better than others, but his idea on how to get Mom and Dad to lighten up was a brilliant one: Just ignore the three weirdos.

Opal was easy since she pretended they didn't exist anyway, but Oliver's snippiness and Garrick's idiocy were harder to ignore. The only downside was that this plan meant Neal couldn't talk to Robbi, because she'd decided she was gonna be friends with those three losers now and not talk to him. She'd have to come around eventually. If she didn't see sense, then that bitch Opal would scare her off sooner or later.

In the meantime: Neal kept a low profile. And it worked.

Dad softened up, and Mom was happier, and Mr. Whitney didn't have anything to report back to them or Principal Hornsby. He fibbed a bit about Oliver accepting an apology Neal didn't really give him, but that didn't matter in the big picture. Why should he apologize, when Oliver didn't? Things were good enough that Mom and Dad agreed to let Killian pick up Neal and Tommy today so they could go to the Jolly Roger for a bit. Pretty soon, Mom would be back to teaching, and things would be normal again.

Except Phil's parents didn't allow him to go to the Jolly anymore.

He'd said that his mom had never really liked Killian, and now she didn't want him anywhere near Phil. She even grabbed Phil and Stephanie's hands and hurried them by Killian without so much as a "hello" once school let out that afternoon. Maybe Neal's parents were being hard on him, but the Briars were being downright unreasonable.

The only thing Killian had ever done to Mrs. Briars was take her heart out for Cora, and she got it back, so nothing bad really happened. And all that bad stuff Captain Hook had done was years and years ago, ancient history. He was a hero now. Was there any cooler hero than a hero with a pirate ship?

No, no there was not.

Neal couldn't remember when his parents left him with Belle at the library, but he _always_ remembered Killian watching out for him. Killian taught him how to navigate, how to sail, how to bait a fishing hook, how to fight with a cutlass, and let him steer the Jolly Roger from time-to-time, too. If Neal ever got lost at sea, he'd know just what to do. (Reading maps was much easier than reading a stupid book.)

And while Mom and Dad's stories about the old world were interesting, Killian's were a lot more exciting. He'd matched wits with the Dark One for three hundred centuries, while Mom and Dad had fumbled with them for just a few years. He'd even come back from hell by godly decree!

Yup, it didn't get any cooler than that.

Plus, Killian wasn't afraid of Mr. Gold like Mom was. Probably because he'd fought against him for so long. When he was the Dark One, he even died to save the whole town, while Mr. Gold just kept trying to destroy it again and again until he lost his powers last year. Killian didn't ever say, _"Poor Oliver, he's having a rough time, you should go easy on him."_   He said that if Oliver wanted respect, he should stop hiding behind his mother and father, and act like a man.

Neal told Killian once they were on the Jolly Roger about Oliver knitting at recess. He figured Killian would think that was pretty damned funny, and he was right: He laughed aloud and said, "Of course he is, I'll bet his father taught him."

"The Dark One knits?" Tommy snickered, hanging from a loose length of rope. Neal wasn't sure what all the ropes were for in the rigging yet, but there was a lot of them. "Why? Does he make sinister mittens?"

"Ha, I'm afraid it's nothing so dramatic lads. Back before he was the Dark One, he was a spinner. And let me tell you boys something about spinners, you'll never hear of a male spinner except for Rumpelstiltskin because it's a job for housewives and spinsters," Killian laughed, leaning against the mast. "Come to think of it, he was a pair of breasts short of being a housewife anyway. Lord knows where that shivering little faggot ever found the nerve to kill the Dark One before him, he wouldn't even fight me to save his own wife!"

Neal sorta knew Gold had a wife before Belle, that had to have been Henry's father's...mom. (God his family tree was complicated.) He didn't know the whole story, and he didn't much care either. Mr. Gold wasn't at all interesting until he became the Dark One, and lately he was back to being the shrinking coward Killian always talked about him being before he had magic. (Neal wasn't sure what a _faggot_ was by definition, but it sounded like  _maggot_ , something soft, slimy, and gross, which fit what everyone said about Gold.) It used to be fun coming up with pranks to try on him, but since Gold shut himself up in his house, it was really not fun anymore. Nothing happened.

They'd even stopped living the funny limericks and haikus, because nothing ever happened but the chalk getting washed off the sidewalk.

Eventually, Killian dropped them off at Neal's house, where Tommy's mom would pick him up later. While they were waiting, Tommy came up with an idea to get back at Oliver for embarrassing him today that was very inventive.

Awhile back, Tommy'd heard Oliver say it was his job on Saturday to fetch the morning paper when he stayed over with his dad. Without the teachers or his parents around, they could wait there before they lobbed snowballs at Oliver and fled the scene on their bikes. Those snow tires Neal had got for Christmas were very handy gifts.

Neal had called Phil, but said he couldn't go. His parents would kill him if he snuck out, plus, Stephanie was a blabbermouth. She'd tell Cleo, _at least_ , and Cleo would tell Emma, and Emma would tell Mom and Dad, and they'd go back to total lockdown. Instead, Phil offered to be their excuse. Killian had once said that every lie needs a seed of truth to divert attention, and theirs would be that Phil's dad had said they could come hang out around the stables Saturday morning. Early Saturday morning.

Neal brought it up at dinner, and while Mom and Dad hesitated, they gave in. Faux good behavior really paid off. Dad's only condition was that they had to call when they got to the stables, which would work out just fine. Phil would be expecting them to show up after they finished with Oliver.

Tommy came over at the time Neal was usually ready to leave for school, just a quarter or so to eight in the morning, and was all bright smiles when he said his mother had a flat and his dad was too busy to give them a ride, so he and Neal were going to ride to the stables. Dad told them to wear their helmets and pads, but didn't object. Storybrooke was safe enough that there wouldn't be some crazy psycho running around the streets at this time in the morning anyway, everything was cool.

Well _cold_ , really. Freezing cold.

Neal's face was about numb, and his eyes stung by the time they peddled all the way to the Gold house. It looked like a dollhouse that Ruth might have painted: A big pink monstrosity with dark green trim and lots of windows, with wooden double doors with stained glass windows. It always made him wonder if it was irony, or if the _Dark Castle_ was a misleading title back in the old world.

The bushes planted around the porch were either dead brown sticks, or covered with tarps to protect them from the frost. Neal and Tommy hid by one of these, and made themselves a small pile of snowball ammunition. The only downside to this hiding place was that they couldn't _see_ Oliver until he was being pelted, but they had the element of surprise on their side so that shouldn't be a deterrent.

Their bikes were stashed around the closest corner of the house so they just had to dart and ride off. It was really a perfect plan, Phil was never going to believe how easy this was...

They were crouched down behind the covered bush for about ten minutes or so with a little more than a half dozen snowballs when they heard the door open on the porch. Neal tucked three more snowballs in the crook of his left arm as he bounced up with one held in his right, and Tommy just grabbed one in each hand, and they sprang out throwing their frosty projectiles at the target.

_It wasn't Oliver._

Three things seemed to happen at once: One was that Tommy, being the pitcher on their softball team, had hit Mr. Gold square in his right arm. (If it had been Oliver, it would have beamed him right in the head.) Neal only hit him with one ball, and while he hadn't really been aiming, he managed to hit the hand Gold had wrapped around his cane.

Mr. Gold turned towards them, but either the grip on his cane slipped or his cane slipped itself on the step. He pitched forward, and Neal's stomach flipped as Tommy gasped, time slowing to a crawl as Gold fell, and fell, and fell--

Until he smashed onto the ground. He'd fallen with his ankles still elevated on the lowest step. He was laying on his belly, arms sort of under his head because he'd flung his hands out to break his fall. Only that didn't seem to help anything...

It all happened in maybe three seconds, but it felt longer.

Neal and Tommy gaped at Gold laying absolutely still on the ground. Was he even breathing? Then they looked at each other. Neal didn't know what to do, and Tommy's eyes were as big as his felt.

"We killed him," Neal whimpered.

"Wh-what do we d-do now?" Tommy stammered.

They looked at Gold again. At his _body_.

Then they ran for their bikes and fled down the street before Henry could open the door and see what in the world had made that thumping noise...

* * *

Traditionally, Saturday mornings, Oliver trotted outside and brought in the newspaper. He'd taken on the responsibility when he was five, and by now it was habitual. Except since Gold's attempts at sitting still on the back porch had mixed results, Henry had brought up the idea of going out to bring in the morning paper himself.

It was a little bit of exercise, it was getting outside; Everyone found it an acceptable way to get out the house. Henry, Gold, Archie, everyone thought it was a fine idea.

The only issue, of course, was that it was winter. Gold walked with a cane. He had to take his time getting down the front steps in the morning, the snow and ice being problematic for even the most sure-footed people. Henry had taken to getting up just a bit earlier the past week and checking the steps were clear, or just hovering near the door in case something screwy happened.

He tried to do less hovering, since it had been nearly two weeks of this new routine already. Gold said he found it a little easier to sit outside for his five mandated minutes for the practice, and that was a good sign, so Henry didn't want to ruin it by making it look like he was waiting for his grandfather to fail.

Still, when he heard Gold start moving this Saturday morning, Henry rolled out of bed and got an early start on the day. He went ahead and swept the thin layer of snow off the porch steps, and that didn't seem to hurt Gold's pride any. The paper wasn't even in the driveway yet, but Henry would have still left it for him. This was their new routine, he cleared the steps, his grandfather fetched the paper in.

When he came back inside, he found Gold situating cinnamon rolls on a baking sheet while the oven warmed up. Henry turned on the coffee maker and filled the tea kettle with water, and by the time all that was finished the house started smelling like doughy, cinnamony heaven. Gold pulled the rolls out the oven and set them on the counter to cool. "I'm going to get the paper."

"Alright, I'll go get Oliver," Henry nodded. He'd only be upstairs for maybe two minutes. That'd be fine...

Except it _hadn't_ been fine.

Oliver was already up when Henry got upstairs. He'd washed his face and combed his hair, and was fumbling with the blankets to make the bed up. Henry gave him a hand leveling the sheets and comforter, and then they started down the stairs. They were halfway down when Henry heard the thump.

He and Oliver both paused a minute. It was a strange sort of sound.

"Papa?" Oliver called out first, but there was no answer.

Henry's spine prickled and he bolted down the stairs to fling the front door open. Lying at the foot of the steps was his grandfather, belly-down on the ground with his legs twisted up on the steps, and his cane looking like it had gotten away from him and fallen on its own.

There really wasn't a worse way to start the morning.

Henry shoved Oliver back inside when he tried to come out. "Call your mom."

"But-"

"Call her!" Henry ordered. "And get dressed, fast!"

Henry fumbled for his cell as he went down the stairs. They weren't slippery, surprisingly, but Henry was still careful. He was unspeakably glad to feel a pulse at his grandfather's throat, and to hear him groan. He was less glad when he got Gold to sit upright on the steps, but Gold kept swaying and his eyes stared right through Henry. The lights were on by no one was home. That...okay. Hospital. Now.

And for the second time in the past four weeks, they were off to the emergency room, this time in the Cadillac.

Getting Gold into the car was a little difficult. He went with it and stayed conscious more or less in the passenger seat, but he asked if they'd brought his cane two or three times while Henry was breaking a few rules of the road, talking on his phone and speeding to the ER. Storybrooke had been so hectic once that Henry knew the signs of a concussion well, but just didn't care to take any chances with his grandfather's health and mind.

Oliver sounded very young and small in the backseat. "Is Papa going to be okay?"

Henry peered in the rear view mirror. He could just see Oliver's face, pale with wide blue eyes staring at him, pleading for answers. It was a shame Henry couldn't really answer that one yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wraps Rumple in blankets* He's gonna be okay. Promise.
> 
> It was brought to my attention that Neal probably shouldn't be in this grade at all. He's got five months _at least_ on Robbi, which means he's born around March in this fic's calculations. So why *would* an almost 11-year-old be in this class? I'm hopefully not being ableist/neurotypical here because I had a lightbulb moment that overrode my initial reaction of curling up in a fetal position on my keyboard and sobbing: Maybe Neal is such a prick because he's ashamed of being dyslexic, which prompts Snow to coddle him a bit because he has a hard time, and for Neal-who's role model is a toxic pirate,-to be aggressive towards Oliver especially because he's smaller, weaker, and quieter than him but knows he doesn't have a lick of trouble reading at all.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I HURT RUMPLE, I DIDN'T LIKE IT EITHER. X'(

Everything Belle read recently about depression and PTSD _stressed_ the importance of support. People who had those conditions were going to have slip-ups, they were going to stumble, it was just natural. And loved ones needed to be understanding of that, to give them a boost when they fell down. To see that printed on paper over ten years after the fact had made Belle slap the book shut and shove it aside.

Part of her wanted to call Rumple, but she didn't know what to say. Maybe she could ask if he'd want to have lunch again now that he'd gotten over that cold. She could ask if he'd like to help with the bake sale she ran during the Heritage Day Festival on the second Friday of March. They used to be good at working on that together, whether they were together or not. Maybe she should talk to Henry and see what he thought Rumple was up for, since she had no idea anymore...and no small amount of regret for that.

Saturday morning, Belle got up and got dressed. Her plan for the day was to eat breakfast at Granny's and then try to screw up the courage to get in touch with her estranged husband. At least that was the plan before their son called just as Belle was sliding on her shoes. Then the plan changed to: _**Get to the hospital.**_

She was out the door before she'd even hung up the phone. She didn't even bother locking the library up while she sped down the street and nearly got run over by Doc's Miata.

"Hey!" he stuck his head out the window. "Where's the fire, Belle? You-"

"I'm sorry, I can't talk right now, I have to get to the hospital!" Belle apologized, nearly bolting down the street again before she heard Doc say, "Are you okay? Do you need a ride?"

Oh, _bless_ him.

So, Doc sped through the streets as Belle babbled out everything Henry told her on the phone: Rumple fell down the front steps somehow, and he was conscious and nothing was broken, but he was out of it and concussed and they wouldn't know more until they got to the hospital and, oh, thank you so much for the lift.

Doc graciously dropped her off right at the entrance and, once Belle took a second to toss him her keys, he promised to deliver them to Astrid as soon as he could so she could tend to the library.

Okay...

She hurried to the ER and found the right room. The last time she'd seen Rumple here, he'd been unconscious, wearing a hospital gown, and was so still and quiet he looked dead. She was unspeakably glad to hear his soft snores and see he was sitting propped up against the elevated hospital bed, dressed in his own clothes. He didn't have any monitors or wires or tubes attached to him this time, either. Oliver sat tucked into his side nibbling on a bagel that appeared to have ketchup on it rather than cream cheese.

"How is he?" she asked, stopping halfway between rushing to the bed and standing at the foot of it.

Henry was sitting in a chair, unshaven and with his shirt inside out. He didn't look as nervous as he'd been the last time they were all gathered in the emergency room, though, that had to be promising. He had a coffee cup and swallowed a bite of his own bagel.

"The doctor said he'll be okay. They think he was pretty far down the steps when he fell, so it wasn't that far to drop. And there was something about how he landed, I think. He's lucky he didn't break anything, and his ankle is definitely going to give him hell longer than the concussion, they think."

Belle had read up a bit on concussions when Oliver was learning to ride a bike so she could accurately explain to a precocious four-year-old why he _had_ to wear a bicycle helmet all the time he rode, even on the grass. Lots could go wrong with a traumatic brain injury. But if the doctor had assured Henry they were lucky, then that meant his brain wasn't bleeding, his skull wasn't fractured, he wasn't blinded or paralyzed...most of the big, obvious Worst Case Scenerios were put to rest. Phew.

Her stomach still flipped at the sight of Rumple's poor foot. He'd used magic to heal it, or perhaps to hide it, whenever they were together. Belle had seen the horrifically crippled limb clearly only once, after Rumple fought a literal bear with little more than his wits for her. The circulation in that foot was poor, you could see the ill-mended bones under the discolored skin, and that was without the additional inflammation and bruising. Someone had wrapped it and applied an ice pack, but his toes were purple and swollen, and she doubted he'd be walking on it for a week. Maybe more.

"Okay..." she nodded, and Henry stretched his legs out in front of him.

"They said the only thing to keep an eye on is when he's sleeping. Every four hours or so we've got to wake him up just to be sure he... _can_ ," Henry only stumbled a little over that short little word, Belle was impressed. "And keep him from doing anything crazy for the next few days while he's recovering."

"That's good, right?"

Henry smiled awkwardly, like he wasn't sure if he ought to or not. "It's a lot better than I was expecting, that's for sure."

Belle went over to the bed, standing by Oliver and swept his hair off his forehead. "How are you?"

Oliver shrugged, licking a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth.

"I think I hate the ER. This is the second time I've had to go to the hospital in three weeks, and I'm not even sick."

Belle leaned over and kissed his forehead. She was close enough at the time that she could smell Rumple's aftershave, and she had to pull back quickly. "Well, I think I'm going to pop down to the cafeteria." she forced a smile to her face. "Do you need anything?"

"We're good, thanks," Henry saluted with his bagel, and Oliver repeated the gesture. "The bagels here are better than the ones at Granny's, but don't tell her I said that."

"Bet they don't charge extra for pickles..." Rumple muttered, and Belle was startled that he was awake.

"Um..."

And how embarrassing was it that she both couldn't think of a thing to say and had a hundred replies clogging her throat?

Rumple's eyes opened and immediately Belle noticed they were glassy. He looked around in a daze, frowning as he flexed his hands. "Did they bring my cane?"

Henry put his bagel between his teeth and reached to his other side, holding up Rumple's cane in plain sight.

"Henry's got it Papa, we already told you that," Oliver said patiently, like this wasn't the first time they had to remind him.

That made Belle feel markedly less peckish. What if Rumple's brains were scrambled? What if he couldn't remember anything? What if this took on a soap opera twist and he got total amnesia and forgot about her and Oliver and-She needed to eat something, her fretting was very disjointed right now.

The cafeteria had abysmal grilled cheese, but the smell of bacon and eggs certainly smelled delicious. Belle wasn't sure she could stomach that much, though, she was so nervous her innards felt like it might be vibrating. She settled on a cup of strawberry yogurt, and cup of sweetened coffee. That would do for now. When she got back to the hospital room, a doctor that surprisingly wasn't Dr. Whale,-unless Victor had turned into a kind-faced black woman with micro braids and a bright red stethoscope,-was talking to Henry. Belle gathered from his relieved expression that it was a good prognosis, and the doctor didn't looked phased at all when Gold asked for his cane again.

"That is perfectly normal," she promised. "A bit of antegrade amnesia. You'll find he has some trouble remembering things that happened right before the concussion, and some spotty memories afterwards. His fine motorskills might suffer a bit for the next few days but there shouldn't be any great lasting damage. We'll have a follow-up appointment next Wednesday to double-check, but other than that I think you can head home now. And remember to wake him up every four hours, just to be safe."

Henry nodded along, and that was more or less the end of that. The doctor hesitated to write a prescription for some stronger painkillers, given Rumple's medical record and his current head trauma, and gave Henry instructions to keep Rumple's ankle elevated and iced regularly instead. They'd look into more options if it didn't help. And after an hour or so, Rumple was discharged. His tender ankle meant that he didn't walk out the hospital, but was wheeled out to the Cadillac again. He was coherent enough to grouse about it, so he couldn't be that badly off, Belle tried to cheer herself by considering.

No one said anything about Belle riding back to the house with them. She got in the front seat, Oliver got in the back with his father. It was a quiet ride, Rumple had nodded off again, leaning against the door, and Belle supposed she was just, but she was very appreciative of those soft snores back there.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked Henry, quietly.

"I guess he just fell," Henry shrugged. "He's been going out to get the paper in the mornings. I thought the steps were clear but maybe they weren't, or maybe he stumbled..."

It was inconceivable, at first. Nothing so commonplace could bring down Rumpelstiltskin. Only it was more than possible, too. Rumple was a normal, mortal, physically impaired man. Belle was very quiet until they got back to his house, shaken by the thought. Oliver went ahead and opened the door, but Belle helped Henry get Rumple out the car. Henry, having the muscle of his other grandfather, pulled Rumple out the car and pulled his arm over his shoulders, and hooked his other arm around Rumple's waist to keep him upright.

Belle slid under his other arm and assumed a similar position, and because she was smaller than Rumple, he seemed to lean on her more. He was real and solid, and his musky aftershave wafted over her, making her eyes sting. It was one thing to think about his dying by a suicide. It was another to think about him just popping off from a blow to the head or a slip on the stairs. More frightening, really, and Belle made sure her hold on him was secure as they made their way up the porch.

She had to let go of him when he sat down on the sofa. Her arms felt like they were buzzing wherever they'd touched and brushed against Rumple's body, and she wanted to sit down with him and hold on again. She couldn't force her company on him though, just because she was having an internal crisis. Oliver sat down by his father and that should do for now. He'd probably want Oliver close by anyway.

Belle retreated into the kitchen to find Henry dumping a pot of coffee into the sink along with the cold tea, and paused a moment at the sight of a pan of cinnamon rolls.

"We probably ought to put those away..." he muttered.

Belle sought a dish and some plastic wrap, making herself busy with that task. It occured to her probably at the same time as Henry that Rumple hadn't eaten anything today, the hospital visit had rather rudely interrupted breakfast. It was quarter past eleven, so Henry put a ham sandwich together and Belle brought it out to him.

On the sofa, Rumple sat watching Oliver work a tapestry needle through those colorful squares he'd been working on for the past few weeks, binding them together one at a time to form what looked to be a scarf in the making. Rumple still had this sort of...dazed look, about him, but he seemed calm. He looked at the sandwich in Belle's hands a long moment and frowned.

"Isn't it early for lunch?" he asked slowly, his eyebrows pressing together.

"No, it's nearly lunch," Belle shook her head. "You haven't eaten yet."

"Hmm..."

Rumple ate the sandwich without much complaint, while Belle watched Oliver work at his scarf. The sandwich was maybe three quarters of the way finished when he set the plate aside and rubbed at his eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted. Without her permission, Belle's hand found its way to his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she heard herself asking.

Rumple blinked at her owlishly, and Belle found herself staring back, question forgotten. Her fingers were _just_ brushing the collar of his shirt, and itched to move closer. To trail up his neck, to scratch against his tender nape, to rake through his short hair. She missed the way his long, brown hair framed his face, the softness and the graying curls. Sometimes it felt like she was still getting used to this cropped style, even though he'd had it for over a decade now...but his dark eyes were the same, soft and deep, fluttering when she grazed the skin just above his collar, arching ever so slightly into her touch...

"Crap."

Belle snatched her hand back, stepping back from the sofa like she was guilty of a crime against humanity rather than just getting lost in Rumple's dazed eyes. Oliver was crawling off the sofa, abandoning his scarf, and Rumple turned to him with a confused look.

"Oliver?"

"I dropped my needle," their son explained, plucking at the blunt needle discarded on the carpet. "Got it!"

Oliver, sitting there on the carpet, frowned, glancing between his parents. He was a very observant boy. Maybe he could sense the direction her thoughts were taking, or maybe there had been a shift in the atomsphere. Either way, he seemed aware of it, and Belle felt shame burning in her chest.

Rumple had a bloody concussion, she'd heard him ask at least twice for his cane when it was right in the room. He wasn't thinking clearly. She couldn't be feeling him up and be nostalgic for feelings she had shut down between them years ago. She should stick to giving support in ways that wouldn't lead them back into those disappointing, unhealthy old patterns of her pushing forwards and Rumple resorting to lies and trickery while they pretended everything was fine.

Very little was fine anymore, but Belle was hoping to change that, someday...

* * *

There were two ways news got around Storybrooke faster than any media outlet available: Gossiping in Granny's Diner, or word circulated by one of the dwarves. And there were seven, and each was incapable of keeping a secret from the other.

Still, Regina was unaware of what happened that morning until after lunch, when they walked into the library to drop off some books and check out new ones. Astrid was sitting there behind the desk, not Belle. That itself wasn't a bad sign but it was how she was looking at her phone with a frown that first got Regina's attention, and Robbi's question of, _"Where's Miss Belle?"_

"Oh, um, I guess you'd call it a family emergency? Mr. Gold fell down the steps today. I _think_ he's okay, Belle just sent me a message saying she's coming back now with Oliver, but he had to go to the hospital."

It was hard to think of Rumple as being hurt by something like a tumble down the stairs. Regina was used to him being the smirking, smug bastard that took arrows to the chest for drama and had an answer to every problem. She sent Robbi to look for the next book in that series she'd picked up, _Perry Johansson_ or something like that. Mortal children of Greek gods that might prompt the story of how Hades killed her father sooner than Regina hoped, but for now, was just a whimsical tale Robbi enjoyed. While her niece was occupied, she sent Henry a text message:

**Is everything okay with Gold?**

Henry sent back in a few minutes: **A concussion, and his bad ankle got knocked around. Can I call you back later?**

**Of course. Luv you.**

**Love you too Mom. <3**

Regina had been meaning to visit Gold and talk about these proposed magic training lessons. When she'd been "training" Emma, it wasn't _quite_ an uphill battle, but it was a little difficult with Emma saying she couldn't and resisting the obvious truths in front of her: Magic was real, and the impossible was less so now. She could appreciate Gold's patience with her a little more after that, even though she was never exactly going to thank him for putting her on the path to being the Evil Queen.

Theirs was the sort of relationship that would give philosophers and psychiatrists fodder for the next three centuries, obviously. But the fact remained: Gold was a good teacher, and if she were going to be giving lessons to Robbi, maybe even his own son, it was something that needed discussing.

Obviously it would have to wait a little longer now...

Robbi returned with a book titled _Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Sea of Monsters_ in one hand, and two other books squeezed in the other hand. Usually Robbi only picked one book, recently she might pick two if she couldn't make up her mind. Regina dimly recalled Zelena making saying she only let Robbi get one book because she lost a library book once. On the surface that was a reasonable decision...except when Regina tried to tell Robbi she could take more than one book, she looked absolutely convinced when she said, "I'm not responsible enough to have more than one."

By the time Regina had opened her eyes, damage had already been done to Robbi because of Zelena's inadequate parenting skills. The girl had come a long way though. When they first came to the library, she would have agonized over which book she would check out, but today her primary concern seemed to be which was a better read: Nancy Drew or The Hardy Boys.

It was such an ordinary concern for a child to have that Regina couldn't help but smile. She encouraged Robbi to ask Astrid, who was about as threatening as a kitten sitting there at the circulation desk in a baby pink sweater.

"That's a good question. They're very similar because they were created by the same person-"

"But it says they're by Carolyn Keene and Franklin W. Dixon."

"That's actually a neat story, but I can't tell it as well as Belle can. You ought to ask when you come back. Personally I think Nancy Drew is better, there's just something interesting about a self-sufficient eighteen-year-old girl solving crimes. The Hardy Boys aren't bad, but to me it just feels like they have twice the people working on a mystery that takes twice as long to solve."

Robbi chewed her lip, looking at the cover of both books before setting the Nancy Drew book down. "I think I'll take that one, please."

Regina eyed the abandoned Hardy Boys cover and snorted a little. "I know we're not supposed to judge books by the cover, but they do look like giant dorks."

Robbi giggled as Astrid checked them out and passed the books back across. She fished a Jolly Rancher out of the dish Belle kept on her desk for children, a green apple one, and handed that to Robbi, too, who murmured a quiet thank you and popped it into her mouth as they were leaving the library for the grocery store.

When Robbi started showing an interest in baking, Regina had helped her make some new treat each week to take with her. She had a fondness for peanut butter cookies, so they were going to need a jar of peanut butter and some butter in addition to some other odds and ends for dinner. "Did you want to make the cookies with the prints on top of it, or the chocolate kisses on top?" Regina asked. They'd have to swing through the candy aisle if it was the latter...

Robbi was very quiet, enough that Regina had to look down at her and stop right in front of the jams and jellies. She didn't look upset, exactly, just...hesitant. Introspective.

"Do..." Robbi paused. "Do I have to visit Mum tomorrow? I don't...I don't think I want to..."

Regina carefully studied Robbi's face, and found she was studying her face right back. Though for what? It wasn't every Sunday they saw Zelena. Despite it being clear that she would be released once she got some of those snakes in her head settled, Zelena refused to give reform a chance. Her visitation privileges were revoked now and then because of her behavior. Her last stunt had been trying to seduce an orderly, and when that failed because the man wanted nothing to do with her, she had hit him with a plastic chair that was removed post-haste from her room. She misses two weeks of visitations, for that stunt, and just got them back before Rumple's suicide. Initially Robbi had been glad to see her mother again, but...

"I'm not going to make you see her, if you don't want to..." Regina started, slowly, giving Robbi time to interject with a statement if she needed to. And she did.

"I just...I don't..." Shifting from foot to foot, Robbi seemed full of so much nervous energy at that moment that it all poured out her mouth. "Last time I tried to tell Mum about my new friends and the sleepover and how I'm reading these Percy Jackson books, and how I feel happier being friends with Garrick and his than I did with Neal or Ruth's and sh-she laughed. Sh-she said th-that they're n-not really my friends, and m-made fun of them, a-an'...and that I'm just being _silly_."

Robbi didn't like being called "silly". She didn't like the word being applied to people even if they were, by definition, being silly. Archie might call it a trigger word, in fact.

Actually, Regina could recall, now, an incident when she was trying to get Robbi into kindergarten and Zelena was resisting. It had been at the farmhouse, and Robbi was playing at their feet while they sat on the sofa. She looked up when Regina was saying something about how Robbi needed the social exercises kindergarten provided as much as she needed to learn how to read and count. Robbi had asked if that was anything like playing tag, or something like that.

"Don't be silly, sweet pea," Zelena crooned sweetly, patting her daughter's head like a puppy. "I'm talking to your auntie, hush now."

It seemed innocent enough at first glance, but what if Zelena rebuked everything she didn't like Robbi doing that way? Said that her choice were silly, her reactions were silly, her own  _thoughts_ were silly. Regina was starting to think that Zelena was far more like Cora than even she thought. They didn't have to leave visible traces of abuse, they left marks on the inside...

Regina reached out and brushed an errant curl behind Robbi's ear, tapping her chin so their eyes met. She had her father's blue eyes, his rounded nose...and that crease that appeared between his brows when he was apprehensive.

"You're not being silly at all. You have friends, they're good to you, you're trying new things, those are all great, great reasons to be happy," she said gently. "Your mother is the one being si-Strange, because that's a strange way of looking at something that makes you as happy as you are now. Isn't it?"

Robbi nodded slowly. Regina gave her a moment.

"S-so...so I don't have to...I don't have to go tomorrow...? Just for tomorrow, I mean. 'Cause I do love Mum, b-but-"

"It's okay, Robbi, it's okay," Regina promised, pulling her into a hug. "If you don't want to go, you don't have to go. I understand."

"It's okay?" she asked, looking very unconvinced. Regina wasn't going to force Robbi to see Zelena, but that look on her face like she _dreaded_ the idea of visiting her mother would have stopped her anyway. She'd have to ask Archie to address Robbi's thoughts about visitations on her next appointment.

"It's absolutely okay. I'll take care of it, and we can do something else Sunday."

Robbi nodded slowly. "Could...I still send her some cookies? Just so she doesn't think I forgot about her?"

That seemed fair. Zelena's reaction would be anyone's guess, but the past ten years had been devoted to making nice with Zelena, it was time that someone put Robbi's needs and feelings first for a change. "That sounds like a good idea. Let's make two batches, I think we should take some to Mr. Gold, too."

Robbi smiled, and for a moment, Regina wondered what she looked like through her eyes. Probably someone very in charge, very heroic, someone who used magic for good deeds now and knew how to bake cookies and brew potions and cast spells and detangle hair. Someone who was powerful enough that they could let her see, and did not _make_ her see, her mother, depending on how she felt at that time.

In reality it wouldn't be so simple handling Zelena's reaction to this development, but again, Regina was finished enabling her sister's bad behavior. Robbi came first.

* * *

Henry got a call in the afternoon from David. Well, David and Snow, the latter of which was close enough to the phone that Henry could hear her asking worried questions. Apparently news of Gold's concussion had spread faster than melted butter.

_"Hey Henry, is everything alright?"_

"Better than I was expecting it to be this morning."

_"That's good, good-"_

_"Is Gold going to be okay?"_

"Is Gold okay?" David asked.

Henry felt himself grinning. "The doctor said he'd be just fine. Tell Grandma that for me, okay?"

David laughed a little, and Snow could be heard saying, _"What? What?"_   anxiously.

_"Henry says Gold's going to be just fine."_

_"That's good. That's good. Is there anything we can do to help?"_

_"Is there anything we can do?"_

"Nope. But tell Grandma thanks anyway."

_"Henry says thanks anyway-"_

_"Oh stop that! Gimme the phone."_

It sounded like there was a short grappling for the phone before suddenly the sound changed, and they were on speakerphone instead. Snow's voice sounded distant and tinny, but clear enough when she asked, _"I mean it, is there anything we can help with?"_

"Nah, it's okay. I'll probably stay home for a few days just because Gold's ankle is aggravated and he shouldn't be walking on it, but we'll be fine."

_"Well I'm glad to hear it...and...and I want you to know I'm going back to school tomorrow. I think Neal is coming around, anyway, but I promise I'm going to try and be a teacher at school rather than just his mother."_

She sounded what Henry would call contrite about it, and genuine. If you couldn't say anything else nice about Snow White, (and Henry hadn't for the past two weeks,) it was that she was honest. And if she said she was going to _try_ , then she would at least give it a shot. Oliver had been quite open about how Neal had seriously backed off since the meeting, Phil even more so. He was suspicious, of course, and so was David, but David had also been hopeful when Henry talked to him in the diner a few days ago.

"I'm glad," Henry said at last, smiling. "Thanks."

And he meant it. Belle had told him that Phillip and Aurora had grounded Phil and were taking these changes the most seriously, but Snow and David hadn't been as lax as Henry had expected. Neal had been grounded for the past two weeks, been told off for making harsh comments, and his school behavior was no longer being swept under the rug.

Maybe things were looking up after all...

The next call came from Regina. She asked some questions about Gold's health, then mentioned she needed to talk to him and Belle about the proposed magical training. She was also going to try a few exercises with Robbi tomorrow and was wondering if they could come by for a quick visit to ask for permission about Oliver.

 _"There's no rush of course,"_ she added, _"But I'd rather get on it before anyone starts hassling anyone else."_

"Of course. You go ahead and talk to Belle, but I can't promise Gold's going to be a hundred percent tomorrow when you visit. He's a little disoriented."

_"I'll keep that in mind. Tell him he's lucky bastard to have such a hard head, would you?"_

The relationship between the (former) Evil Queen and (former) Dark One would never cease to baffle Henry.

And then, just when Henry had two cans of clam chowder cooking, he got a visitor. When he opened the door, Violet, with her new purple hat, stood on the porch, and a white paper bag from the bakery.

"Hey," she pecked him on the cheek. "Everybody in town's talking about your grandfather, is he okay?"

"He will be," Henry smiled, a weight lifting off his shoulders from that little peck. "Think he'll make front page news again?"

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to see."

Henry stepped aside to let Violet in. She went to the kitchen with her package, and grinned at the saucepan of soup. "Looks like I chose well to bring you a loaf of bacon cheddar bread."

"Have I mentioned I love you lately?"

* * *

Snow had actually enjoyed having two weeks off. She caught up on some household things that she'd been slipping behind on like how the closet was organized and taking inventory of the cabinets for out-of-date items. It was nice to take Leo to the park, and she'd had lunch with Emma and Ruby. Actually she'd invited Emma's family over for dinner on Thursday night, and while they were later than expected it had been nice to do a normal family thing together. The only dark spots on an otherwise lovely vacation was the circumstances, and Neal chafing under their new expectations.

Henry's lashing out at her had given Snow the idea that something was very wrong. But hearing Neal call Ruth an idiot was really the last straw. If he was talking to her like that where they could hear him, what else was he doing when they weren't around? The biggest problem Snow was having, though, was a balance between _understanding_ and _discipline_ that worked for everyone, not just their son.

When Neal was in kindergarten he'd had some trouble mixing up the lower case letters and remembering numbers, but Snow didn't think anything about it. He was five after all, she hadn't expected him to be Einstein. But when the trouble persisted into his first few weeks of first grade, coinciding with the last big catastrophe in Storybrooke before the Black Cauldron, Belle had pulled Snow aside when she came to pick her kids up, (the library was heavily warded against all manner of hostile magic, it was the safest place to put your child really,) and lightly suggested that Snow get Neal tested for dyslexia.

At first Snow had been upset that Belle was suggesting there was something wrong with her son. Neal was perfectly healthy, his pediatrician hadn't said anything was wrong with him. Then Snow paused and talked it over with David, who agreed there was nothing _physically_ wrong with Neal, and had arranged an appointment after all. And lo and behold, Neal _was_ dyslexic, and as much as Snow hated it, she thought it was best that he retake kindergarten so he stood a better chance at keeping up with the lessons.

Belle had given them a list of resources for helping a dyslexic child, but she said she couldn't babysit anymore. That very last time she agreed to babysit, the boys had a fight that ended in a torn arm (off a ragdoll,) and a missing tooth from Oliver punching Neal in the mouth. It was better for everyone, she insisted, that they be kept apart from now on, and she stuck to it.

The resources were helpful, at any rate. Dyslexia didn't affect Neal's intelligence or development, it just meant he had trouble processing written information. That wasn't so bad, really, so Snow and David had Neal practice on cereal boxes and street signs with simple fonts, on books they read together, had him practice writing the simpler things they needed on grocery lists like "ham" and "corn" and "milk". Snow had found there were at least two other dyslexic kids in their school above Neal's grade, and three more over at the high school at least, and had worked on giving them extra test-taking time and changing the lettering on the test to be plain and simple. All that had meant that Neal was on par with children of his grade level, not the head of the class, but solidly average.

It was how he was so easily frustrated that was a bigger problem. When Neal chose to apply himself he did excellent work, but when he hit a block he got huffy and stomped away from the problem. Poor David had run the Boston Marathon helping him learn to ride a bicycle, and the poor bicycle had been called stupid and broken, and been kicked at least twice. But he got the hang of it. Snow always tried to remind him of that, _you used to not be able to ride a bike and look how well you ride now!_

David's approach was always less gentle and more practical: _Just try it again, I know you can do this_. Snow was trying to take _that_ approach more thesedays, because her soft approach seemed to make Neal think he could get away with anything, but it was hard breaking old habits. She and David had disagreed with how long Neal should be grounded. She thought a week would suffice, David argued for a month. They settled on two, or, until his behavior improved.

She hadn't realized how out of synch she and her husband had become until they were working together again. Huh.

And Neal, after a rough first week, did _seem_ to be improving. They were just setting him to a different moral standard: Namely to stop attacking people that weren't like him. Snow wasn't sure why Neal was so fixated on Oliver, but then, Oliver was smaller and different and just the sort of child that always got singled out. He just made an easy target. Not that it was okay, by any means, but that was the only reason Snow could think of right now, and David had agreed.

Mr. Whitney had reported that the classroom was peaceful for the past week. Someone had thought that there was trouble when Tommy found Oliver knitting, but nothing came of it. Snow had used to think that Phil, who had gotten held back in second grade because of failing math grades, was Neal's worst influence, but she was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy wasn't the worse one. By all accounts, Phil was reforming faster than any of the three, but Tommy's behavior hadn't changed aside from not antagonizing anyone.

David seemed to have the same thoughts, but, since they weren't causing harm anymore, he and Snow both consented to Killian's proposal Thursday to pick the boys up after school Friday. A sort of reward for good behavior, incentive to continue doing so.

Aurora and Phillip had vehemently declined to the point of Aurora escorting Phil home herself, which was only odd because Snow had thought the hostility between her and Killian had been laid to rest. Maybe not, though...

Snow had the strangest feeling, lately, that something was going on and she was blind to it. Something with Killian and Emma, maybe? At dinner she had noticed that Killian had drank enough wine for he _and_   Emma although she'd abstained, and when she quietly said something he just told her she could drive them all home since she was sober. Maybe Henry was struggling with Gold more than they thought he was? Until they had called him to check up on them this afternoon, he had avoided them completely.

Or maybe it was how even though Neal had been doing so well, his behavior when Phillip brought him home early didn't mesh at all with his behavior when he went out....

Phillip had said that he had already dropped Tommy off, and that they both looked sort of unwell. When they arrived at the stables on their bikes they were pale, and Phil had called to say they'd arrived because they excused themselves to the bathroom and asked him to call ahead. That cold had almost stopped circulating by now, but maybe Neal had caught it?

He insisted that he was just woozy because they skipped breakfast, and they had left so early that it was probably true. But that didn't explain everything away. His appetite was poor, he spent most of the afternoon shut up in his room. He could have been sick. David brought him down for dinner, and while he was still just picking at his food he seemed a little less sickly. He didn't talk much at dinner, leaving Ruth and Leo to do most of the talking. Leo had gotten spaghetti sauce all over his face but was using his little plastic fork admirably, and Ruth had chattered happily about her day playing with her best friend Melody. Melody's mother was a nurse, and she had said that Mr. Gold was in the emergency room again, but went home with Henry instead of spending the night again.

"Henry says he's going to be okay," Snow assured her daughter.

"How come Mr. Gold walks with a limp anyway?" Ruth asked. "He didn't used to."

"I think it's an injury he had before he was the Dark One," David said. "I think it's his knee."

"No, no I think it's his ankle," Snow disagreed. "Or his foot at least."

"I think it's actually his knee, I knew a guy who twisted his knee and walked funny in my village back in the old world."

"Well if it's his knee, he'd wear a brace for it, I think. I say it's his foot."

"May I be excused?" Neal asked suddenly. "I'm not very hungry."

"Oh, um, alright..." Snow hesitated, looking Neal over. "Neal, baby, are you sick?"

"No. I just...I'm just tired."

David frowned. "Alright. You should get to bed early tonight then."

"Okay, Dad, I think I will." Neal smiled wanly, slipping away from the table.

When bedtime came after baths, (Leo was going through a stage were he liked to see how long he could hold his breath underwater, it would seem this year they'd be teaching him how to swim when the weather warmed up,) and the brushing of teeth, Snow and David tucked in Leo and Ruth before they came to Neal's room. He'd decided he was too mature to be tucked two or three years ago, but they still wanted to check on him. He was lying in bed curled up under his blankets, but he wasn't asleep yet.

"I'm going back to teaching Monday," Snow reminded him, adjusting his comforter. "We're very proud of how you're changing your attitude, we know it isn't easy for you."

Neal looked like he was going to say something.

"Yeah...thanks."

"We mean it," David smiled, kissing their son's head. "Keep up the good work."

"Okay."

"Sweet dreams, Neal."

"Yeah...g'night Dad. Night Mom."

Snow brushed her doubt aside, kissing his cheek. "Good night Neal. Sweet dreams."

They left him to sleep, but that little sliver of doubt wriggled back to the forefront of Snow's mind. It was probably just that Neal was fibbing about how he felt...tomorrow he'd probably break out in a fever or have a stuffy head. Maybe it wasn't doubt, just intuition...

"Does Neal seem..." David hesitated a moment, tugging his pajama shirt over his head. "Does he seem a little off to you?"

So it wasn't just her. Hmm.

"He might be sick with that cold..." Snow said slowly, pursing her lips. "But we'll keep an eye on it..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think that Snowing has improved a little. Before, Snow wouldn't have given Neal's shady behavior a second thought. We'll know there's real improvement when she stops letting little boys associate with horrible pirates...
> 
> Note: I sat down and did some figuring on the ages of these child characters because the continuity issues are bugging me. Turns out, if Hyde's been gone 10 years, Oliver should be 9 going on 10. And I know it's a small thing but it was bugging me and the edits have been made appropriately. When I post this chapter to Tumblr I'm going to make a followup "masterpost" of ages and this'll be the last time I allow my obsession with factual correctness to get in the way. After this, I'm instituting a _"Storybrooke is a small town and I don't care when they start school so the ages are wonky"_ policy for my brain. You hear that, Brain? Time to go be productive on other projects. I'm warning you!


	30. Chapter 30

It wasn't that Robbi loved Mum any less. But...it hurt when she laughed at Robbi for making friends. And they were her friends. Sometimes Mum wasn't fit company for visitors, Aunt Regina had explained on Sundays they couldn't see each other, and today Robbi didn't feel like fit company to even visit, so, she and Aunt Regina stayed home and made cookies. Some would stay here, some were going to Mr. Gold's house with them later, and some Aunt Regina was going to take to Mum.

Peanut butter cookies were probably the cutest of all the cookies that Robbi had made. They were soft and peanutty, and you pressed a fork on the tops to make this pretty criss-cross pattern.

While the cookies were baking, Aunt Regina grabbed an empty butter dish and took off one of her earrings.

"I'd like to try something, if you're willing. You said once your mother had tried teaching you magic, right?"

Right. That was when Aunt Regina got upset, and Mum got angry at her and at Robbi for telling. It was supposed to be a secret, something special between her and Mum, but since Aunt Regina had magic Robbi thought she could give her some tips. Instead, Aunt Regina had carefully said that magic could be very, very dangerous and that she didn't want Robbi playing around with it until she was older. "Mature" was the word she'd used specifically. And then Mum summoned the Cauldron Born and Robbi hadn't had much interest in magic afterwards at all.

"Before I can teach you to control magic, I need to know what I'm working with. This is a test Rumple had me do when I was starting out, very simple, nothing sinister about it," Aunt Regina assured, putting the lid on the dish over the lone earring and stretching out her other hand. "You just teleport the object from under the dish. You conjure it by willing it into your hand."

There was a puff of purplish-blue smoke, and the earring appeared in Aunt Regina's hand like m-Well it was magic.

She put it back on the dish and covered it up again, sliding it slightly towards Robbi.

"Now you don't have to try it if you don't want to," she added. "Some people are born with more magic than others. Your mother, I think, was one. If you have latent magic I'd like to teach you how to keep it from bubbling out, and that's all for now. Do you understand that?"

Robbi thought about the accident in the mines, and how Mrs. Nolan had seemed so nervous about it afterwards. Mrs. Nolan was supposed to be a hero in town, even if she maybe wasn't the best teacher. And Robbi would rather learn control over whatever powers she may or may not have had from her aunt than from the Blue Fairy. She was...scary.

"So..." Robbi opened her hand, staring at her palm. "Just...will it?"

"Just will it."

"Okay..." Robbi frowned in concentration. Nothing had happened the first, second, or fifth times she willed it to. After the eigth try, Aunt Regina came around the table and kissed the top of her head.

"It took me a long time to get this trick right, too," she said, and Robbi didn't believe that at all.

"But you were The Evil Queen, you're super-strong."

"I am now," Aunt Regina conceded. "But it took a lot of work to get that far, and dark magic is...more _explosive_ than light magic. How about we try again later? Besides, if you can't do this, then there's little change you'll accidentally set the classroom and all those birdhouses on fire, right?"

"I guess so...yeah," Robbi smiled. The timer went off then, (it was a wind-up thing shaped like an apple, a gift Regina had gotten from Mrs. Nolan one year for her birthday,) and Robbi realized the whole kitchen smelled like cookies, so all thoughts of magic had been pushed out of her mind.

Aunt Regina was going to drop off a plate of cookies at the hospital and go check up on Mr. Gold, and maybe go visit Emma, she'd said, if she had the time. Robbi was going to have lunch at Granny's Diner with Garrick and his mom, who was a very nice woman once she'd decided Robbi hadn't really been aiming to insult Garrick the time she accidentally called him not normal. (Aunt Regina probably would have done the same if the situation was reversed.) Garrick's grandfather might meet them at the diner, but at the moment he was varnishing a crib, so he might be delayed. He'd asked Tink to grab some newspapers for him to lay down while he was working, so they made a stop at the pharmacy first.

Tink (and she insisted Robbi call her that,) and Garrick had come by Aunt Regina's house to town. It wasn't far on foot, it was farther to the hospital, so Aunt Regina took her car to see Mum, with a paper plate of cookies. Robbi had wrapped some in a napkin and stuck them in the pocket of her furry coat to take with her for later.

Garrick had a handful of mints in his pocket, he said, and tried to barter two mints for one cookie until his mother told him to _"save bartering for sweets until after lunch, please."_

They went to the pharmacy first. Robbi had sorta known that Mr. Clark was a dwarf named Sneezy, but she hadn't thought they were all actual brothers. (If twins were two, and triplets were three, what did that make seven? Sevenlets? Sevets?) None of the seven brothers really looked alike, though. One was blonde, one looked younger than them all, one looked older than them all, one was darker than the rest, Opal's dad had blue eyes and a black-and-white beard, but was bald as a nut. Mr. Clark had dark eyes and dark brown hair, and a shadow of a beard. If they were brothers, they didn't really look like it, but then neither did Neal and Ruth really. All the Herman kids did, with blue eyes and blonde hair.

Siblings were a funny thing, Robbi decided. She used to hear Killian say it was a good thing there was only one Gold kid, but she was never sure why. That seemed rude.

The pharmacy was busier than Robbi was expecting it to be, but she'd never been here on a Sunday morning. Maybe everyone was here because they had places to be and needed supplies. The person in front of them was buying a case of beer, and some plastic cups. The teenagers in front of him were buying big bottles of soda and a roll of mints. What on earth were _they_ gonna do?

Tink was standing there with three newspapers tucked under her arm, well, two. She started skimming over one paper while they were waiting. Garrick popped a mint into his mouth, and gave one to Robbi. It was one of those Lifesaver mints. Spearmint, she thought. The kind in the green package. That made Robbi almost giggle, because of course those were the kind of mints Garrick would have.

She heard high heels clicking on the floor behind them, then. Out of curiosity, Robbi turned her head to see who it was. Not a lot of ladies wore shoes that sounded like that in Storybrooke. There was Aunt Regina, Mum, and-

"Hi Miss Belle!" Garrick chirped, waving to her. "Hey, those are pretty daisies."

Miss Belle stopped short, clutching a bouqet of daisies in her hands. Her face turned pink like she was embarrassed, even though she was smiling. "Erm, thank you, Garrick. Hello Robbi, what are you doing out and about?"

"Aunt Regina's going to see Mr. Gold," Robbi said. "She said I could have lunch with Garrick. Where's Oliver?"

"I left him at his father's house. Um, I was just...killing time, while I waited on an order from Granny's to take back with me."

"Oh? Is that a fact?" Tink said, and Robbi wondered why she was smirking so. "The florist's daughter is buying flowers in the pharmacy?"

Miss Belle's smile faltered, turning brittle. "My father and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment. He's being...very rude,-" she used that tone of voice that meant she wanted to use curse words but didn't want to swear in front of children, "-and I'm not having it. So that's why I'm buying flowers here."

"Mmhmm...for your apartment?"

"O-of course...um...I-I mean, of course-"

Tink's smirk softened into a smile. "Belle, if you want the flowers, buy the flowers. I think it's sweet."

Robbi didn't know why Miss Belle turned a darker shade of pink. It was just flowers, it wasn't like she was buying anything embarrassing. And they were pretty daisies, what was there to blush about? Siblings were weird, but grownups were weirder.

* * *

Regina hadn't expected Zelena to take the news that Robbi didn't want to see her today very well. Which was why she wasn't going to put anyone else through that drama, she went directly to Zelena herself. (Nurse Ratched and the orderly didn't look very impressed, and both stayed close to the door.) When Regina stepped into the room alone, armed with nothing but a paper plate of cookies, Zelena's face twisted in a sneer.

"Ugh, what do you want?"

It was well established by now that Regina was largely _persona non grata_ in Zelena's cell. Her presence, to Zelena, probably meant gentle chiding to be consistent in taking the medication that was supposed to settle the snakes in her head, or maybe annoying "you have to try" lectures. Suddenly the idea that baked goods could soften the coming blow seemed ridiculous.

"I brought you cookies." Regina said, holding them out. Zelena made no move to get off from the cot, so she set them down on the foot of the bed. "Robbi made them. She's getting very good at making peanut butter cookies, she thought you might like to have some."

Zelena pursed her lips, glancing momentarily at the plate, then looking at Regina. And the door.

"Where is my daughter?" she said, sounding perfectly calm. "Is she running behind? Did you maybe forget her at home?"

"No...but she did send the cookies..." Regina began slowly. "Robbi's having lunch with a friend today. She said that she didn't like you laughing at her and her friends last time, and she's asked me not to make her come today."

Zelena was still quiet, humming as she drummed her fingers on her knee. The leather cuff on her right wrist meant that she couldn't throw fireballs or turn Regina into a snail...but that didn't mean she was helpless...

"We must have a misunderstanding here," she said, pasting on a stiff smile. "I didn't laugh at my daughter, I would never laugh at my daughter. But those children couldn't possibly be her friends, I mean, really? Tinker Bell despises standing in the same room as me, why would she let my daughter anywhere near her son?"

Regina held in a sigh. "Zelena. It's not the same thing-"

"Then what? What is it? Do you expect me to think people don't hate Robbi just for being my daughter? They're playing games with her!" Zelena spat. "And how could you let her stay with under Belle's roof? How could you trust that bookish little trollop not to murder my only child?"

Oh boy. Here we go.

Regina took a step backwards when Zelena clutched at the sheets underneath her. "Belle isn't going to hurt anyone's child, she likes Robbi, they all do," she tried to assure. "It's not fair to keep her-"

"Oh they _like_ her, do they?" Zelena snarled, rising to her feet. Regina took another step back at the way she looked taut as a coiled spring, ready to pounce. "Just like you? Don't think I don't know what's going on, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Making decisions without my cooperation, having me put neatly out of the way! That's what this is really about, isn't it? You want to keep Robbi away from me! Well you just remember this, she is _my_ daughter! I am her mother!"

"Well start acting like it!" Regina snapped, her patience wearing thin. "You're right, you are her mother, but you don't treat her like a daughter. You treat her like a toy you don't want to share. I know you've had a horrible life and I'm sorry our mother abandoned you, I am, but for god's sake, you have a child now that needs you to be an adult, to put her first!"

"I do put her first! I do! But I make mistakes! You weren't a perfect mother yourself when Henry was a child, I've heard those stories!" Zelena shifted moods, looking like she was going to cry as she wrapped her arms around herself. "You've already raised a child, I don't know what to do!"

"That's why I was always reaching out to you-"

"You weren't reaching out!" Zelena howled. "You just wanted my daughter! You aren't her mother, I am! You will never be her mother! Robin Mills is my daughter, but never yours! She's the one thing you can never take from me, the one thing you can't have!"

Whatever sympathy Regina felt trying to rise in her chest was snuffed out by how the root of the knotty problem was exposed: Zelena was Robbi's mother. She had concieved her, given birth to her, nursed her. Things Regina couldn't do. There had been a time when she would have questioned if she were jealous, if she were just reaching out because of some latent longing to be a parent to Robin's child... _except_...

Except Zelena didn't have a leg to stand on.

She had raped Robin Hood. You could make an argument it wasn't _rape_ because she had consent, but it was still definitely sexual assault. Robbi was a dear, sweet girl and her father loved her so much, but her conception was ugly and vile. Zelena didn't have an ounce of love for Robin. She could have had a baby with any man, but she'd chosen Robin Hood while wearing the guise of Marian. She'd chosen the man Regina loved. And she was childish and selfish and unapologetic about the horrible things she'd done, and Regina was not going to feel sorry for her, wasn't going to let her get away with this shit, anymore.

"Robbi deserves a chance to flourish." Regina said flatly. "She doesn't have to fill any holes in your heart, she doesn't exist solely to love you. It's my job as her guardian to give that girl her best chance-"

"Guardian?!" Zelena shrieked. "Her _guardian_?! You just took her away the minute I was trapped!"

"Oh...god..." Regina closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

She knew Zelena was going to take this badly. But part of her had continued to hope that she'd see sense. That she'd see Robbi was happy, healthy and well, and she could start focusing on her own issues. But apparently...no. Not today. And she didn't have enough pity left today to feel sorry about that, either.

Zelena suddenly seized the plate of cookies and flung it. A shower of broken cookies and crumbs bounced off Regina's coat, and she teleported outside the door as Zelena sprang at her. Through the swirl of purple smoke, she could have sworn she felt nails clawing her skin it was such a close thing.

"Come back here you bitch!" Zelena pounded on the door from inside the cell. "I want my daughter! You can't take her away from me!"

Nurse Ratched appeared quickly, eyeing the door like there was a wildcat inside. Well...to be fair...

"Is there any trouble, Madam Mayor?"

Regina swallowed, brushing her fingers against her cheek, checking for scratches. She didn't know if Zelena was rightfully upset because she was expecting Robbi today, or if this was just another example of what an unfit parent her sister was...and that was frightening. If Robbi ever wanted to see her mother again, then there was going to be an orderly in the room from now on.

"REGINA!" Zelena screamed. "THIS ISN'T OVER!"

No it wasn't...unfortunately.

* * *

The last thing Rumpelstiltskin remembered clearly Saturday morning was... _cinnamon rolls_. He took the cinnamon rolls out the oven. That was the last thing he clearly remembered before things got blurry.

He had been on the steps. And then he...then...then he was sitting on the steps with a horrible headache and his head spinning, with Henry holding him upright by his arms. And a ride to the hospital in the Cadillac. He remembered that because Henry kept waking him up and it was annoying. The hospital visit itself was very blurry, he remembered asking for his cane and Oliver sitting by him, he remembered being mad because they wheeled him out in a wheelchair again. Then he was home on the sofa. He might've eaten a sandwich.

He was certain he'd imagined one memory: Belle giving him that sandwich. He didn't think she'd have a reason for being there in his house, but then, maybe she was just being kind. Still, Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure if that was a real memory or not until Henry mentioned Belle had been there. And then she'd come around Sunday morning, too. Granted she had dropped off Oliver, but...

God. He had a dull ache behind his eyes that was preventing him from think about anything too hard. Or focusing on anything for long, for that matter. Henry had said that was to be expected, according to what the doctor said, but Rumpelstiltskin felt like his brain was finally starting to punish him for overthinking everything.

_Ugh..._

Belle had brought Oliver over, and stood around awkwardly for a bit. It would seem that even though she was there, she wasn't comfortable. Henry had proposed she pick up an order from Granny's he called in, (hamburgers, mostly, unsurprisingly,) and she hurried out the door, leaving Rumpelstiltskin feeling horribly guilty. She wouldn't have to be here if he hadn't been so clumsy as to fall down the stairs...and it was bad enough that he had a concussion, did his anxiety have to flare up too? Shit.

He chose to shove all of that aside and try paying attention to Oliver busily working at his scarf. He was stitching the last few blocks together now, and it was probably going to be as long as the distance from Oliver's chin down to his toes by the time he was done. (Henry had shown him a picture of this Fourth Doctor Oliver mentioned, and this scarf was indeed reminiscent of that.) He'd given Oliver the yarn he'd had left over from past projects, so it was all sorts of colors-pale blue, white, yellow-and-orange, brick red, purple, royal blue-and-white, golden brown,-and his son was very proud of his work, as he should be.

While Belle was gone, Violet came over. She brought with her a carefully arranged plate of chocolate cupcakes with messy white icing she sat on the coffee table.

"I brought you something. My dad's practicing recipes for the bake sale, so there are treats all over the house," she explained, "I think it's cupcakes this year. Chocolate with cream cheese icing."

It sounded lovely, but Rumpelstiltskin didn't think he had the stomach for much food right now. His son, though, was eyeing the cakes carefully, like he was trying to judge if he could get away with eating one, or a _piece_ of one, before he'd eaten a proper lunch.

Oliver knew his boundaries, but, he tested them now and then for loopholes. It was odd how proud that made Rumpelstiltskin feel, and, he suspected, Belle as well sometimes. They hadn't raised a fool despite his many faults and her impulsiveness. He wondered idly if Belle had been a precocious child like Oliver as well. He could see her as a small, eager thing with a tangle of brown curls and bright blue eyes dashing from imaginary adventure to adventure, flipping through thick books and dreaming of far off places. Nothing like the withdrawn child he'd been, his only dream being warm and cozy in a house as snug as the one the kindly spinsters brought him up in.

They would probably be scared to death of this great pink monster he lived in, he mused while Violet took stock of Oliver's scarf and Henry made some joke about him needing a "canine unit", and they'd have been even more frightened by the Dark Castle. Though he imagined they would inspect his spun gold with a fine-toothed comb and cluck over what fine work it was. They were probably the first, and last, people that thought Rumpelstiltskin was a good man with a world of possibilities open to him.

He was glad they died before he married Milah, he'd have died from shame if they'd seen him become a crippled coward shrinking in fear from even his wife...

"Papa?"

"Hmm?" Rumpelstiltskin blinked. "Yes?"

"I'm done with my scarf," Oliver said, winding it around his neck. "What do you think?

It was much too long, was Rumpelstiltskin's first thought. It might have been almost as long as Oliver was tall lying straight, and was made from a cacophony of colors since Oliver had used leftover yarn he'd had on hand. Pale blue, dark blue and white, cream, yellow and orange, purple, brick red, golden brown. But Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't call it ugly for all his practiced eye could see rough stitches in the first few blocks Oliver made, or the uneven stitches binding them together. No, it was a well made first project and Oliver had every right to be proud of it.

Even though Rumpelstiltskin still wasn't sure who the Fourth Doctor was...

"It's a lovely scarf," he smiled, reaching out to flip the long end over his shoulder. "Careful not to trip though."

Oliver stuck his tongue out.

There was a ringing of the doorbell, then, and Henry got up to answer it. Rumpelstiltskin's stomach did a flip thinking Belle was back, as much as he wished it wouldn't. It was just lunch. She was just bringing back a paper sack of hamburgers, and a BLT that was Violet's. That was it. Oh. He hadn't thought about the logistics of eating in front of people when he wasn't hungry. Henry wasn't exactly a bully about it, but he was keeping an eye on that sort of thing even before the concussion.

(Henry could plan a scheme around the best of them if given the chance, but the boy had a poker face like a window: Fragile and transparent. He must've gotten that from his maternal grandmother.)

Instead it was Regina. Ah. Henry mentioned something about her visiting earlier, that's right. His stomach only settled a little.

"Hello...everyone," Regina said, casting her eye around the room. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not especially," Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. He desperately hoped his face wasn't visibly blushing when Regina swept her eyes from the bruise on his forehead to his foot elevated on the ottoman. It was bad enough his estranged wife pitied him, did his former student/rival have to look at him like that, too?

"Hmm," Regina hummed, sticking her hands in the pocket of her coat. "I won't be long, I just wanted to talk to you and Belle about this training idea. I tried testing Robbi this morning but she didn't have much luck."

Rumpelstiltskin was mildly surprised. Zelena had so much latent magic that it must've been oozing out of her from a young age. Sometimes he wondered if it was why she was so _unstable_ , in the first place. He'd hardly been a stabilizing influence on her as a teacher, but her reaction was still...

His stomach twisted in a far more painful way than just nerves. Time to stop thinking about certain people before he had an attack.

Taking a deep breath he tried disguising as shifting into a more comfortable position on the sofa, adjusting the position of his ankle, Rumpelstiltsin folded his arms over his chest. His exhale came out as a sigh, and he found it easier to inhale again. Phew. "Every person is different, even from parent to child. Cora was exceptionally gifted at dark magic because of the hate in her heart, your sister is just a freakish natural. Despite your slow start and tendency to be distracted by every shiny thing, you were probably the steadiest student I had, a greater capacity for knowledge."

Regina folded her arms, too, narrowing her eyes like she couldn't decide if that was a compliment or an insult. A little of both really.

"Well I'm not going to teach dark magic to children. It was that teleporting test you had me start with, with the paperweight and the dome?"

Ah. That was actually a nice, neutral test. Good at establishing the physics of magic, such as they were. You couldn't create something from nothing, you either had to be intimately familiar with the object you were conjuring or summon the actual, physical object from somewhere else. A nice beginner's test. Zelena had conquored it as easy as breathing, but Rumpelstiltskin felt comfortable in saying Zelena was the magician's equivalent of a wrecking ball. She had lots of power, but no finesse or subtlety. Regina was decidedly the superior strategist, which was sad since Regina at her prime "Evil Queen" mode had a temper shorter than an inchworm.

There was a reason her guards had a high turnover rate...but she'd come a long way since then. Rumpelstiltskin would be comfortable with someone who knew the consequences of unbridled power and darkness teaching his son restraint, but Belle might have a conflicting opinion.

"That's a good start. Belle's gone out to pick up an order, you should probably wait for her to hear you out."

Oliver was playing quietly with the ball of yarn on his lap, some excess blue he'd been using to stitch things together. He was pretending not to be paying attention, but he'd likely heard every spoken word. Maybe some not-so-spoken ones, too, like, _"The final decision is Belle's."_

Regina sat down in one of the two armchairs in the living room, crossing her legs while she waited. It was quiet for a moment before Oliver asked, "Is Robbi visiting her mom?"

"Um...no," Regina said slowly, her eyes dropping to the rug. "Not this week."

"Did she do something again?" Henry asked in a tone that hinted at being very unsurprised.

"Not really, well, not like usual. Last week she laughed at Robbi sleeping over at Belle's, and..."

"At me, and her other friends," Oliver finished, slumping against the sofa cushions. "She said something about that. So if she's not at the hospital, where is she?"

As far as Rumpelstiltskin was concerned? Robbi should be as far away from that psychotic witch-bitch as possible.

"Having lunch with Garrick, actually, at Granny's Diner. Tinker Bell took them. I'm supposed to pick her up from their house at about two," Regina checked her watch. "So I've got some time to spare. Um...so...Violet. How is the pet shelter's preparations for the Heritage Day Festival going?"

Regina could hold a grudge. That was why she'd spent years trying to destroy Snow White, after all. But she also had pride she'd rather choke on than swallow, so her attempts at restablishing a good rapport with Violet obviously meant something in the wake of the great pregnancy scare. She wasn't too desperate, had offered an apology, and was very careful not to overstep her boundaries. It could have been for Henry's benefit, but, it was still trying. That seemed to count for something.

Violet seemed to appreciate the small gestures, and was quite gracious about it. She smiled, not falsely, and replied, "Pretty good. We're bringing some animals out for adoption. There's a spaniel that just had puppies that are old enough to be adopted, we're expecting those to go quickly, like the kittens last year."

"That's the one with the long ears, right?" Henry asked, making a "floppy ear" gesture with his hands. "I bet those are cute puppies, the mom's a pretty dog."

"Three of them look like her, the fourth one is this gray, wiry mutt that must take after his father..." Violet began, and Gold tuned out the words to try and focus on how his world wasn't falling apart at the moment, and to settle his fluttering stomach.

* * *

It was embarrassing, almost humiliating, to buy the flowers she'd picked up in the pharmacy after Tink smirked at her for it. But Belle did buy them, even though she wanted to throw them back and dart out the store.

Tink could be very discreet. If Belle had to get caught and questioned, it was better to have been Tink than Astrid. The same went for the children. Garrick asked a lot of questions, Robbi did not, but they were both quiet in a way. She wasn't sure how Opal would react, but Peter and Joseph probably would have wanted to touch the flowers and sniff them. But Tink just encouraged her to do it, and left her alone.

Okay.

Okay...

Belle half regretted buying these stupid flowers again when she came walking up to Granny's with the bouquet of daisies in her hand. She had felt so brave when she decided to bring Rumple flowers for convalescent wishes herself this time, without abandoning them anonymously on a porch. Now her stomach was flipping and she felt like she had a "I'm bringing flowers to my semi-ex" sign flashing over her head, inviting judgment from all who saw her.

The lunch rush was upon the diner then, though. Granny's Diner shut down after one on Sunday so the Lucas-Gale family could spend some time together, which meant that most of Storybrooke was in a rush to get their lunch. Belle had called her order in ahead, so Ruby dropped the bag on the counter and accepted Belle's cash with little more than a bright smile and a "have a nice day Belle" before darting back into the fray. Sitting at one table, actually, was Dorothy coaxing Todd into eating his chicken fingers, while Lydia picking apart her child-sized hamburger from the top bun down rather than eating it like a normal person.

Lydia and Todd were obviously born to different parents. Lydia had russet-brown skin and dark sprialing curls kept out her face solely by a bright red bandana today, and Todd had lighter, olive skin and dark auburn hair. His eyes were a shade darker than Lydia's golden brown eyes, and his nose was hooked ever so slightly as opposed to her wider, flatter nose. But they considered each other brother and sister and didn't think it was too strange to have two mothers. Lydia had even bragged about it on occassion.

They made a cute family, all things considered, and Granny adored her great-grandchildren without hesitation. She'd regarded Dorothy with suspicion in her first few weeks in Storybrooke, but, Belle couldn't see handling Oliver dashing off without warning and returning with a True Love she'd never met much differently. Ruby said they'd bonded over crossbows being excellent weapons to defend small children with because if your arm was steady enough you could hold the child and fire the bow at the same time.

To each their own...

Belle slipped out the diner with the order and hurried back to Rumple's house. It shouldn't be a bad thing. She didn't have to be romantically involved to send someone flowers. And Rumple was the father of her child, she didn't need a special reason to send him flowers, especially when he was hurt. She would even give these in person. She could do that. She kept repeating that like a mental mantra as she turned up the drive, walked up the porch, and after an awkward second of juggling the paper bag and the flowers, she even opened the door. She could do this. She could do this-

And smacked into an invisible wall that almost knocked the beret off her head. Oh, right...there were those blood-magic wards up.

Henry came into the foyer, wincing. "Ooh, sorry Belle. I forgot."

"Um, it's okay," she chuckled weakly, rubbing her smarting nose with her wrist. Ow. "Uh, how do I...?"

"You can come in now."

Belle cautiously stepped forwards, making it through this time. Henry came over and took the bag out her hand. "Sorry about that, it only lets in people me, Gold, or Oliver invite at the door. I forget since we don't get many visitors, y'know? Oh. What're those?"

Henry extracted the flowers from her hand, and Belle's heart thumped nervously.

"Uh, I-"

"Did you find these on the porch?"

"Wh-what?"

Henry examined the daisies curiously. "Last week I found a whole vase of flowers on the porch. I have no idea who sent them though."

Her thumping heart dropped.

Belle trailed quietly after Henry as he ducked into the living room, putting down the takeout bag to pick up the empty vase she'd left her first bouquet in. "Look at this Grandpa," he said, pointing the heads at Rumple so he could see the cheerful daisies. "You've got some more flowers."

Rumple scrunched up his nose, looking utterly perplexed. "Are we sure those are for me? I mean...it's me. Who'd send the Dark One daisies?"

"They're very pretty though," Violet said. "You know, I think I've seen these at the pharmacy."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Oliver agreed, sitting up on his knees and leaning over his father to have a look. "Moe wouldn't deliver here if his life depended on it."

"Do you think Maleficent could've sent them?" Rumple asked. "She has an odd sense of humor sometimes."

"No. If it were her, she'd have sent a note too," Regina shook her head. "Looks like you have secret admirer, Gold."

"I doubt that highly..."

"But the vase came with a gold ribbon around it instead of a note," Henry said, shaking the container in his hand. "That's gotta be a clue."

Regina passed her hand over the flowers and the vase. "I'm not picking up any magic..."

Never in her life had Belle felt so small, and never had she wanted to floor to swallow her up so much. She didn't think anyone noticed her slipping away to the bathroom. No, their attention was solely on the mysterious flowers they figured had to be from an anonymous, secret admirer.

It didn't occur to a single one of them that they could be from her. Henry had met her at the door and assumed she'd picked them up off the porch. It was like they thought it completely implausible she would bring flowers, and maybe that wasn't so impossible, but it hurt.

She locked the bathroom door and sat on the toilet lid when it felt like her legs were going to wobble out from underneath her. Wrapping her arms around herself like it would hold her together, Belle allowed herself a strangled sob before swallowing the rest down tight. It hurt deep down in the pit of her stomach, a hot tumor of emotions she couldn't begin to pick apart. It felt like failure, betrayal, a horrible mistake and a cowardly misunderstanding.

After a moment more in the depths of a crisis, Belle thought of something else. Well, _someone_ else. She'd been putting Archie off since January, but maybe she should have a word with him...

* * *

It was less suspicious and more concerning how Neal continued to act, and David wasn't sure what had gone wrong. Everything had been normal.

Neal had chafed a bit under their new rules, but that was to be expected. They were fair rules, really, expectations that they had of their children that they hadn't been holding Neal to. But something was off as of yesterday. He was so twitchy, jumping whenever they accidentally surprised him, startling when they asked him questions. Finally, they sat Neal down in the kitchen while Ruth and Leo were out, and asked him if, possibly, he was playing with drugs or alcohol. Maybe it was a weird place to go, but honestly, neither David or Snow could think of another cause for a total shift in personality and something bordering on abject paranoia.

"What?" he'd blinked. "No. Of course not. Where would I even get drugs in Storybrooke?"

"Well, you're just..." Snow hesitated. She was still struggling to keep from coddling Neal, but David was siding with her right now: Something was wrong, and they needed to get to the bottom of it. "Honey, is there something you're not telling us? You're not yourself lately, we're _worried_ about you."

Neal swallowed. "I...I'm okay..."

"No, you're not. Everytime we surprise you, you look at us like you're expecting something bad," David said slowly. "Just...alright. How about we start with what it isn't. Are you sick?"

"No. I feel fine."

"Good. So is this about something at school?"

"No, sir."

"Is Tommy involved?" Snow asked. "He's acting a lot like you are right now. Did you boys get in to some kind of trouble?"

Neal froze. _Bingo_.

Whatever it was, it was bad enough that Neal was afraid of getting caught. That might be anything, but it seemed like a pretty big admission of guilt to David.

He waited a minute, threading his fingers with Snow's. She was getting better at this confronting thing, because she was quiet too. It was up to Neal now. He hadn't answered "no" yet, but he didn't have to, either, the answer was obviously "yes," but they needed more information than that...

"Saturday, um," Neal squirmed. "S-Saturday, when Tommy and I were supposed to be at the stables...w-we...we, um, well...we...went by Phil's house. While he wasn't home. He never locks his window, because he thinks his mom runs the heat to high in the house? And he's on the ground floor, so, Tommy and I thought it would be funny to mess with him a little. We, um, we got caught by Stephanie and she screamed and we screamed and we ran and we thought Mrs. Briars was gonna think we were burglars so we ran and...w-we were scared."

David frowned, tilting his head. "You broke into Phil's room, as a prank?"

"Well... _theoretically_..."

"Neal, that's not funny. Why would you think that was funny?"

"I...I don't know...I mean...it sounds pretty stupid now that I said it-"

"Because it is stupid!" Snow blurted, and David glanced to make sure his wife was still there. He couldn't recall the last time she rose her voice towards one of their children, if ever, though this was probably a release of her own worries as much as a scolding. "Neal Cassidy Nolan we thought you were in real trouble!"

"I'm sorry-"

"We thought that-You'd have been in a lot less trouble if you'd just told us straight out what was wrong! You're grounded for the rest of the week, that's it." Snow took a deep breath, calming herself before adding in a softer tone. "Honey. We're not punishing you for fun, we're your parents. It's our job to teach you how to be the best person you can be, to keep you on the right track. Everything we do for you is because we think it's for your own good, and sometimes we're wrong, but if you'd just tell us when you do something stupid like that then we'd just have a laugh about it, because no harm was done."

"Your mother is right," David said, feeling very, very proud of his wife at that moment because she was absolutely, infalliably right. "You can tell us anything, Neal, we're here to listen to you. We're here to help you."

Neal nodded slowly, looking a little stunned.

"Yes sir. Yes ma'am."

Snow sighed, standing up to kiss their son's forehead.

"I know we might seem like we're tough on you, sometimes, but we just want you to be safe, and for you to be the best you can be. Does that make sense?"

Neal nodded again.

David got up, too, hugging him. "Thanks for being honest with us."

"Y-yeah...sure..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that Neal's fib isn't gonna carry him far. Snow and David are a little simple, yeah, but they aren't drooling morons. Things are about to get very...busy.
> 
> (And thirty chapters later I finally got Belle to look into therapy, huzzah!)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So...I'm gonna fix this. Okay? Just keep that in mind...

Henry wasn't sure what to make of lunch the other day. Regina just stayed around long enough to make some friendly chatter, and then to propose some magic lessons for Oliver. Belle and Gold both didn't look at each other, hesitated some, like they were trying to guess what the other wanted to do, before slowly agreeing on after school on Friday would be a good time.

And that was the easy part.

Gold was very quiet through lunch, speaking only when spoken too. Henry wasn't sure how much he'd eaten because he'd been engaged in a story Violet had to tell she'd heard from Grace. Jefferson had opened up a shop after Grace moved out, needing something to keep him occupied. It turned out the clothing store was a big hit, which pleased father and daughter alike. There was, according to Grace, a cat that lived in the alley Jefferson had been trying to adopt for months. It was happy to sit and eat what Jefferson left out for it, but wouldn't let him get close enough to touch, and the one time he succeeded it had "been a hurricane of fur and claws," but he was not deterred. It was an amusing tale, but Henry didn't think Gold absorbed it.

But Henry suspected his grandfather hadn't eaten much. His appetite seemed to have waned after Saturday, and he'd made a brief call to Archie inviting him to come over to prevent a relapse.

Belle had been quiet, too. She disappeared while they had been looking at the flowers, and come back very reserved. She smiled at the right moments and laughed at the appropriate times to look engaged, but something was off. Henry didn't know what though. Maybe she was just upset that someone sent Gold flowers? That sorta made sense, and sorta didn't.

Archie had mentioned he had attempted to get Belle in to see him. Good. Maybe she'd benefit from a second opinion.

Gold's quiet mood persisted through Sunday into Monday, when Archie came to visit. Figaro had clambered up on the sofa and tried his doggy-best to either sit on Gold or give him a hug, all Henry knew was that Archie was embarrassed but the smile Gold cracked was worth it.

Archie had intended to come visit anyway, he said, producing a small gift bag that contained a box of tea, some chocolate, and a one of those squeezy stress balls. Gold had looked at the bag like a spider might crawl out and chew on him before Henry took it away. His grandfather really wasn't used to getting no-strings-attached presents.

"So, how are you feeling? Does your head hurt?"

"No," Gold shrugged.

It was quiet for a moment, Archie clearly expecting him to say more. After another beat of silence, the therapist cleared his throat. "Well...how have you been sleeping lately? Any nightmares? Restlessness?"

Gold took another moment before answering. "I had some trouble while I was ill. Too tired to be awake, too restless to sleep."

"Were you on any medication for your cold?"

"No. I wasn't sure how I would react to it."

"If that's a concern for you, I suggest bring it up with your primary doctor. How are you handling this concussion?"

"I hate it." Gold said flatly. "I can't read, I can't knit, I can't concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. I know it's the fucking concussion, but I still hate it."

"That's understandable," Archie said with a small, sympathetic smile. "When your usual coping mechanisms are taken away, anyone could get antsy."

"I'm not antsy, I _hate_ it," Gold grumbled, and Figaro whined. The black-and-white dog gave him a cheerful lick up the side of the head, and Henry couldn't help but snicker at the face Gold pulled even while he scratched Figaro's ears. "Yeah. Thanks boy."

"I'm so sorry Mr. Gold," Archie winced. "Figaro! Get down from there! Down!"

Rather than obey, the dog draped himself across Gold's lap for the rest of the session. Henry knew that while he'd never admit as much, his grandfather had a soft spot for dogs and cats. Figaro rightly assumed that Gold wouldn't make him budge from his comfortable perch, and made himself at home until Archie stood up and called for his dog. And then produced a Ritz cracker, Figaro's favorite bribe.

Gold was shaking the dog hair off his lap blanket while Henry walked Archie to the door. He had stayed out of his grandfather's therapy session as much as possible, just keeping an ear out for any red alarms. "Well?"

Archie hesitated a moment. "Well...he's not badly off. I think when his concentration comes back he'll be much better off. At the moment he feels frustrated, and too much like a burden because of his limited mobility. I've been trying to talk to him about getting back on an antidepressant-"

"Is that a good idea?" Henry frowned.

"Well, antidepressants are really a sort of catch 22 situation. They can help balance things out, but sometimes that can lead to the energy needed to carry out suicide. The pill that I prescribed to Gold also helps with his anxiety, which might be flaring up because of his current situation."

"Okay. So...like, because he's stuck on the sofa, he feels helpless?"

"Sort of. It has more to do, I think, with why he's stuck. He fell down the stairs, hit his head, hurt his ankle, on a Saturday, which is usually a special time for he and his son. It's not a very encouraging place to find yourself, especially if you already feel like you're weighing your loved ones down. Even if he's the only one that thinks so."

Henry sighed. "So...any suggestions?"

"Well, Gold seems to have very busy hands, that's why I sent the stress ball. Some little mindless distraction like that might alleviate some of tension."

Henry didn't regret moving in with Gold, or feel particularly resentful that he was pretty much the only one supporting him. (That is, not counting Violet supporting him supporting his grandfather, and Oliver doing what a nine-year-old could.) After all, if the situation was reversed, he didn't doubt Gold would do his best for him, too. But every now and then, Henry would sure as hell like to know what he was supposed to do more than "might" and "could" and "may".

* * *

Archie was already sitting in a discreet back booth when Belle arrived. Not so far in the back it was obviously discreet, just modestly out-the-way. Maybe she was overthinking things already, she sighed inwardly as she crossed the floor. It wasn't even a formal appointment. She just asked Archie if he'd have lunch with her today, he'd said yes because they used to have lunch together quite often...until Belle started avoiding it.

It wasn't pity. Archie Hopper didn't do pity. Sympathy, compassion, kindness, forgiveness, comforting, but never out-and-out pity. The way he looked at her with a combination of everything but pity, or frustration, made Belle feel like he could see something ugly and shameful in her and would have helped if she just asked.

She didn't think she needed help. Not until yesterday when she almost burst into tears in Rumple's bathroom over something as stupid and meaningless as flowers.

So...here she was today.

Ruby set an iced tea in front of her and in front of Archie without their having to ask. Apparently both of them were regular enough about what they drank for lunch. Archie ordered a chicken sandwich, Belle ordered a salad because she felt like stabbing leaves with a fork would help her get through whatever conversation they were about to have. Archie never ate his fries anyway, she could steal his if she wanted to, he didn't mind too terribly.

"So..." Archie began once Ruby trotted away. "Is this a social call or..."

Belle bit her lip. "Did Rumple mention anything to you about flowers lately?"

Archie's red eyebrows pressed together. "I can't tell you anything about our sessions Belle."

"No, no I don't mean to pry into that," she shook her head, picking at her thumbnail. "I meant...I mean...did you happen to see a vase in the living room? Gold ribbon around the neck?"

"Oh. That. Well yes, I did notice it, I don't think we talked about it." Archie thought for a moment. "No. He didn't say anything to me. Why?"

Belle took a deep breath. She trusted Archie. Ever since that field trip when Snow seemed happy to shove an innocent child to the morally dubious Blue Fairy once she realized it wasn't hers, Belle felt like her certainties were a tarp someone stabbed a hole in, something that used to protect her but was leaking steadily now. But Archie she trusted. He wouldn't laugh or make her feel small, wouldn't talk her out of it, wouldn't smirk.

"Valentine's Day weekend Rumple had a cold and couldn't keep Oliver," she started, and Archie nodded. He didn't interuppt. Belle supposed that was a tactic to keep patients talking. It worked. "So I left him a vase of flowers, with a gold ribbon, so he'd know they were for him."

Archie was quiet for another moment, then he nodded again, sitting up a bit straighter. "Well that was very kind of you. I'm sure he appreciated-"

"I didn't sign anything," she cut him off. She couldn't bear for him to misunderstand here, she needed the bare bones truth of it, no comforting...yet. "It was just an unmarked flower vase on the doorstep, I didn't even knock, I just left it there for he or Henry to find later on."

She could see the minute Archie got confused. "I...see..."

"And I thought it would be okay, 'c-'cause I'm not-I'm not sure if he'd want any gift from _me_ , even innocent ones, it was just a 'get well soon' present, y'know, like a card, but flowers. And it didn't bother me, not signing it, or if he wouldn't know who it was from, but yesterday since he's hurt I thought I'd bring him flowers myself, not anonymously, and it wouldn't be a big deal because they were just flowers from the pharmacy nothing special about it and we were having lunch anyway with Oliver and Henry and Violet so it wasn't a romantic gesture of any kind and I got as far as the door where Henry met me and h-he thought that I found the flowers on the porch like the Valentine's Day ones and-They thought it was more likely I found the flowers on the porch instead of bringing them myself and it hurt. It shouldn't have because how should they know different but i-it just _hurt_ so much, it still hurts."

Her chest felt tight with emotions even know, proving it did still hurt. Or maybe it was breathlessness. Maybe both. It was all so painfully overwhelming, good god.

Archie seemed a little overwhelmed too, and Belle was steeling herself to recount that mess of a tale when he blinked. "So...if I've got it right...you intended to bring flowers yesterday, intentionally rather than anonymously. Is that right?"

"Yes." Belle nodded quickly.

"And you were having lunch, so I assume you went out to pick up something-"

"Granny's, hamburgers and a BLT."

"Right, you picked up an order and decided to buy flowers while you were out. Right?"

"Right."

"And you got there, Henry met you at the door, and because there were anonymous flowers before he presumed that you found more of them. Not knowing that you had been responsible for both."

"Yes," Belle agreed, and this was the part where it got muddy, but also the part she desperately didn't want to explain in detail. "That's right."

"Okay..." Archie nodded. "And...when they all assumed the same thing, they were from some...some secret admirer, it hurt you. Because you wanted to do something kind and they didn't think you were capable of it?"

 _Ouch_. If Belle's chest was tight before, she felt her heart definitely cracking now. "The truth does hurt..."

Archie smiled, reaching across the table to pat one of Belle's hands were she was nervously playing with a paper napkin. She flinched a little because she really didn't deserve to be comforted. She had been horrible selfish and cold for the past three years, especially the past nine months, and maybe even the past ten years, why should anyone in that house have thought she could be nice? Especially Rumple? The man she promised she knew what she was getting, then turned her back on every time he fumbled.

"Belle," Archie calm voice broke her out of her spiral. "Belle, it's okay."

"No it's not!" Belle shook her head. "Can you blame them? Nine months ago I screamed horrible things and took his son away because he was a suspect, then I expect him to make up just because I made the offer, and now I think he'd believe _I_ gave him flowers?"

"Belle. It's okay." Damn it, why did he have to sound so calm? "And it's okay that you feel bad. And it's okay that you feel like you failed. It's all okay because you tried. That was very brave, even the anonymous flowers took bravery. And if you failed? That's okay too, because you still gave it a shot. You tried."

Funny. If Belle had done a brave thing, she didn't feel very brave. She felt pathetic and small and selfish. But...she did try. When was the last time she tried something so...foolishly brave? Bravely foolish? She felt...she felt a little bit better thinking about that. She had tried. It hurt, it failed, but she had _tried_. And she could always try again. One slow, careful step at a time, feeling out her limits. And Rumple's. She'd tried once, she could try to do it again.

"Do the brave thing and bravery will follow," she muttered, and gave Archie's hand a little squeeze. "I suppose that's true..."

Archie gave her that sunny smile of his and pulled his hand away. He was a sweet man, but Belle never felt a flicker of romantic interest in him. He was a good, loyal friend she'd do anything for and vice versa, but couldn't ever see herself falling for. And Archie was perfectly fine with that.

"You know, I just got through with a couple that was going through pre-marriage counselling-"

"Pre-marriage counselling?"

"Yeah. Y'know, just to, um," Archie fumbled a bit, and Belle felt something uncomfortable poke at her chest. "To make sure they're...ready. Ah. Anyway, they've decided to put off the wedding for a bit to work on some lingering issues the bride has with her potential mother-in-law, but that opened up a spot on Wednesday just before Oliver's sessions. Would you be interested in maybe coming in and talking a bit more?"

A polite refusal jumped to the tip of Belle's tongue before she could think twice, but for once she took a moment to think while Ruby set down their food. Why did she want to refuse?

Belle was the strong one in her and Rumple's relationship, the stable one. And to her friends, she was the reliable one, the trustworthy one, the one that had answers and forgiveness aplenty and was stingy with neither. That's who she was. Or...who she _thought_ she was. The role she played, at the very least, what was expected of her.

It was expected of her, by almost everyone she was sure, to shake her head and say, "no thank you," and move on to something lighter. Something less personal. She should politely decline and figure out her own solution, come to her own decision. _No one decides my fate but me._ She had lived by those words as much as _do the brave thing and bravery will follow_   since her mother died a hero protecting her from Ogres, but...but somewhere along the way she'd gotten the meaning twisted around.

She was choosing her fate very poorly. Had chosen worse, before. Putting herself under a sleeping curse, an ill-advised stay aboard the Jolly Rodger that she sometimes fancied was the reason poor Oliver got nauseous standing too far out on the docks. Banishing her husband without a cane or a second thought...

And bravery? If this was the first time she felt brave in longer than she felt comfortable recalling, what did that mean?

She had a problem, somewhere in her line of thinking, and it wasn't going to get better denying it. If she were going to help anyone, she needed to help herself first.

"How soon can I be there?"

Archie blinked, surprised, but recovered with a wide smile. "Next Wednesday is fine. I'll see you then at-"

"Hello Hopper, Belle," Killian greeted at the exact moment Belle was starting to feel truly comfortable with this idea, and shattering it. "How's it going, love?"

Good manners drilled into her being since the time she could walk were the only thing that put a prim mask on Belle's face instead of a frown when she looked up at Killian. He had the beginning signs of gray hair at his temples as he was in his forties by now, still sticking to his dark edgy clothes and eyeliner. He probably looked distinguished but nothing about it appealed to Belle, he just looked...dull. Dull as in not rousing her interest. Not dull as in unattractive. Like Emma's chunky ash gray sweater that washed all color from her face and, her eyes flat as she forced a smile to her face.

"Hello Emma," Belle felt it easier to smile at her, even if it was...sympathetic. Maybe Belle _felt_ like crap, but Emma _looked_ the part, and honestly...Belle couldn't recall when she started to look that way. "Killian."

"Hey."

"Hello," Archie gave them a polite smile that looked real to anyone who wasn't familiar with what a fake smile looked like on his face. "Can we help you with something?"

"No, no, just picking up lunch." Killian said, almost dismissing Archie entirely before turning back to Belle. "So. I here your lad's been causing quite the stir at school lately."

Belle pressed her lips together. "If by 'causing a stir' you mean 'the target of vicious bullying' then, yes, he has. But it's something we're working on."

 _'Please...'_   she begged internally. _'Go away.'_

"Really? Well," Killian said, not going away in the least. "If you'd like a hand, I'd be happy to help. Maybe the lad could benefit from someone showing him how to stand up for himself. I wager he's got your backbone, eh?"

Belle could see Archie wrinkling his nose and silently agreed. She had forgiven Killian Jones for a lot, had been the bigger person and let bygones be bygones, but she felt physically ill at his not-so-subtle suggestion that she was too weak to help her son, that her son was too weak as he was, and that Rumpelstiltskin was a coward. The more time she was spending taking stock of who was really there supporting her while her world was cracking up, the more she realized that Hook was as toxic as nuclear waste.

He was always as bad as Papa about thinking boys should be loud and rowdy and rough, and Belle had always wanted to believe it was just some sort of old-fashioned notion...now she thought she knew better.

"No thank you, Oliver and I have enough help."

"Oh, I'm sorry if that was upsetting," Killian said, and while his face was apologetic his words irritated Belle, but she couldn't say why, she just knew she hated it. "I just thought this situation called for a man's touch, aye? I mean I'm sure he has Henry in his life, but that one's not much for confrontations."

Emma was utterly silent, and Belle wanted to slap her pale, drawn face no matter how pitiful she looked. Her husband was insulting her son! Right in front of her! Why was she letting him do that? Was she still mad at Henry for storming away from her house? Did she think he deserved that? Emma just walked away when Ruby called out their order, and Belle was certain she glared up at Killian rather than looked, because a flicker of something like concern and something like confusion lit his cold blue eyes.

"I've already thanked you for your concern, but I must decline." Belle replied crisply.

Archie cleared his throat, and Killian seemed surprised he was still there. "Ahem. Uh, Captain," he began politely. "I think you're order is up. If you could just leave us to our meal, please?"

It infuritated Belle again that Killian stepped back. Why couldn't he leave when she dismissed him? But then he was chuckling like he caught a joke, and said. "Oh, I see. Have a pleasant afternoon then, both of you."

Belle's stomach turned unpleasantly when she looked down to her salad. She had a feeling that whatever Killian had taken away from this conversation was exactly the wrong thing...and just hoped she was wrong about it.

Archie picked up a stubby french fry and twirled it between his fingers. "Um, so...Wednesday?"

"Yeah...sounds good..."

"Good. So. Do you have any idea what sort of present to get Garrick for his birthday?"

"Something colorful, slightly messy, and without sharp edges," Belle smiled, a running joke for anyone who'd asked Tink the same question for the past five years or so. It was a distraction, she knew, but one that was also productive. It felt nice to plan something normal like what to get a child for his birthday...

* * *

Usually, Neal's favorite day of March was the nineteenth. His birthday. (Phil's birthday was the twentieth, how neat was that?) But this year, today was definitely his favorite day of the month: Because his mom was back to teaching so everything was gonna go back to normal soon. And, she and Dad didn't suspect him of murdering Mr. Gold.

He had been _terrified_ that he and Tommy accidentally killed Mr. Gold, but there wasn't even a suspicion of foul play. Probably because it was late winter now, time for things to get slippery and start thawing, and Gold had a bum leg to start with. There was still the fear of being caught, but Neal was a lot less worried now. As far as his parents knew, they'd done something stupid as a prank on Phil. And Tommy's parents probably wouldn't care either way, since they didn't like Gold, so at recess he pulled Tommy aside and told him the news: They were home free.

Except Phil didn't know, and he was right there listening, so he asked, "Home free over what?"

They hadn't exactly told Phil what happened because Saturday they were so sure they were murderers. But since Phil was a part of their alibi, and was again worked into the story Neal fabricated to get he and Tommy out of trouble, they had to let him in on the secret. Just not out here on the playground.

"Come on," Neal nodded towards the school door nearby. "Let's talk somewhere private."

They went inside to the silent bathroom. Everyone was out at recess still, or otherwise taking a break, so they had as much privacy as they were allowed. Phil seemed suspicious about the secrecy, and asked while Tommy closed the door behind them: "Okay, will you tell me what's wrong with you guys now? You've been acting screwy since-"

"Shh!" Tommy and Neal hushed him.

Phil actually rolled his eyes. "Oh good god, what could you have possibly done that needs this much drama? Did you kill somebody?"

"We...thought we did," Neal shrugged awkwardly. There was no way to say that gracefully, and he tried to ignore the prickles of guilt rising in his gut again.

And there was no way to react gracefully, either. Phil had looked at him blankly for a moment, then at Tommy. And then his eyes got big and his mouth dropped open. " _What?!_ " he gasped. "You-"

"SHH!" Tommy hissed again.

"You cannot just tell me that and expect me to shush! Oh my god!" Phil turned pale. "Who?"

"S-so..." Tommy hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "You know how Saturday, we planned that trick?"

"Yeah," Phil nodded. "I was your cover guy at the stables...wait, you guys started acting weird that day. I though you were sick, what happened? Did you get caught, or-"

"We got the wrong guy...sorta."

" _Oh my god_..."

"See," Neal held up his hands to demonstrate. "We were hiding behind this bush, and couldn't see the porch. But we figured that shouldn't matter since Tommy said Oliver said he always gets the paper on Saturday-"

"Hey, that's what I heard, I thought it was true!" Tommy protested. "And it was too late to stop the snowballs in midair, and the next thing we know Gold-"

"You hit Gold. Oh. Oh my god..." Phil turned even whiter, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock. It was an honest reaction. Nobody hurt Mr. Gold, it just didn't happen. An angry mob had been turned away from his front porch, but two fourth graders with snowballs had taken him out. It was almost funny, Neal might've even told Killian about it if he weren't terrified what his parents would do. If they flipped over the mine accident, they'd lock Neal in the attic until college for this. "You're dead."

Tommy seemed to read his thoughts, grabbing Phil's shoulders and making him meet his eyes. "You can't tell anybody what happened! Besides, Mr. Gold's fine, right? There's really no harm done at all. Right?"

Neal nodded. "Yeah. I just got my parents to trust me again, man, I can't mess this up so soon-" One of the stall doors on the end swung open violently, and they froze. Oh shit.

* * *

Recess would be over soon, and Oliver had slipped away to use the restroom. He intended to come back and get his backpack, but, he'd forgotten about the zipper.

This pair of pants had some trouble with the zipper, it always stuck halfway up, and Oliver always forgot about it until he was wearing them, so he never remembered to tell his mother about them. He stood fumbling with the zipper in the stall, and just got it when the door opened. And Phil's voice was asking, "Okay, will you tell me what's wrong with you guys now? You've been acting screwy since-"

"Shh!"

"Oh good god, what could you have possibly done that needs this much drama? Did you kill somebody?"

Phil had been teasing...but Neal slowly answered, "We...thought we did."

Oliver listened carefully, buttoning up his pants and quietly fastening his belt.

" _What?!_ " Phil gasped. "You-"

"SHH!" Tommy hissed.

"You cannot just tell me that and expect me to shush! Oh my god! Who?"

"S-so...you know how Saturday, we planned that trick?" Tommy asked slowly.

"Yeah. I was your cover guy at the stables..." Phil paused for a moment. "Wait, you guys started acting weird that day. What happened? Did you get caught, or-"

"We got the wrong guy...sorta."

" _Oh my god_..."

Indeed...

"See," Neal explained. "We were hiding behind this bush, and couldn't see the porch. But we figured that shouldn't matter since Tommy said Oliver said he always gets the paper on Saturday-"

"Hey, that's what I heard, I thought it was true! And it was too late to stop the snowballs in midair, and the next thing we know Gold-"

"You hit Gold. Oh. Oh my god...you're dead."

Oliver's stomach dropped. Probably at the same time Phil's did. The difference was that he wasn't worried for Neal and Tommy, he was so angry his skin felt cold, and his ears were ringing as he heard Tommy's next statement.

"You can't tell anybody what happened!" Tommy said firmly. "Besides, Mr. Gold's fine, right? There's really no harm done at all. Right?"

"Yeah," Neal agreed. "And my parents just started trusting me again, man, I can't mess this up so soon-"

Oliver threw the door open.

For a few precious seconds, everything was quiet as the grave. Neal, Phil, and Tommy stared at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths as he stood on the other side of the room, separated by ten feet with the long clear mirror the only witness in the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tommy squeaked. That he had the nerve to sound frightened when he'd just justified giving Papa a concussion made Oliver's stomach boil with anger he was trying to swallow down just to speak.

"Why the hell did you hurt my father?"

"We didn't hurt him-"

"I just heard you!"

"Look Oliver, it was an accident-" Neal tried.

"It was only an accident because you meant to hurt me, you prick!"

The look of fear on Neal's face went away, replaced by a scowl matching Tommy's exactly. Phil was backing up like he expected bullets to start flying through the air at any minute.

"Alright. So we did," Tommy shrugged infuriatingly. "We hit Gold with snowballs while he was on the front porch, because he thought it was you. And then he fell. Now prove we did it."

Oliver ground his teeth. "I just heard you admit it."

"Yeah. You heard us. Now what proof do you have that we did it? What makes you think you can convince anybody we did it? We were at the stables that morning with Phil. Right?"

Oliver turned his eyes on Phil just as Tommy looked over his shoulder with a smug grin. Whether it was guilt, fear, shame, or what have you, Phil Briars turned white as a sheet and backed up until he hit the far wall.

"L-leave me out of this..."

"My father," Oliver enunciated carefully, stepping forwards with all the anger roiling in his stomach until it hurt. "Hit his head so hard he forgot where he was. My father had a concussion, which the doctor said he was lucky wasn't worse. My father can't walk because you hurt him. And you're trying to scare me into keeping quiet, because you're afraid of the consequences of your shitty actions?"

Neal stepped forwards too, faster, until he was standing right in front of Oliver. He was a half-head taller than Oliver was, a year older, beefier, relying on intimidation and aggression to scare him silent. But the cheap tactic bounced right off the rage Oliver felt sparking over his skin. They could've killed Papa. And they were worried about _getting caught_ , nothing else.

"Yeah," he smirked. "Because it's your word, against ours. And it's three against one. What-" he poked Oliver's chest, "-are you,-" he tugged on the double-wrapped loop of the scarf around his neck, "-gonna do about it?"

"Guys...I don't like this..." Phil said slowly, creeping towards the door. "I-I don't like this, I'm gonna go, okay? I won't tell but I don't wanna-"

"What are you scared of, it's just _widdle Owiver Gold_." Tommy snickered, crossing his arms. "You remember what Killian said? I bet he's just like his dad, a shivering little fag-"

"SHUT UP!"

Oliver shoved Neal with strength born of blind rage and the overwhelming desire to make them all shut up, but Neal barely flinched. He just laughed and shoved him back, making Oliver stumble back, and that hot anger in his chest burned.

"He's not a fag! He's a little bitch like his mom! You wanna fight? Huh? You wanna fight, little bitch-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Oliver snarled, shoving Neal again as hard as he could.

Neal _flew_.

He shot through the swinging bathroom door like a cannonball, propelled by a bright golden starburst. He crashed into the lockers straight across the hall, leaving a dent, and crumpling down in a heap on the waxed floor. The door was swinging wildly on its hinges, nearly slapping Phil while he stood there gaping at it.

Time stood still.

The spell was broken by Tommy bursting through the door shouting, "Neal? Neal?! Answer me!"

Phil stood there in shock and Oliver supposed he had an out of body experience. In slow motion, he was walking out the door into the hall, stopping the door behind him so it would stop swinging around. Neal was sprawled on the floor groaning, curled up in a ball while Tommy was shaking him and screaming. Oliver just stood there watching, then looked down at his hands. That hot feeling in his chest had evaporated, but his hands and ears were still buzzing.

"Get the hell away from us you freak!" Tommy shrieked, the ringing of the school bell dragging Oliver back to reality.

Everyone would be back in this hallway in a few seconds. Teachers, students, they were all going to come down here. Mrs. Nolan was going to see what happened and lock him in the hospital, or call the Blue Fairy-And just like that, Oliver had become the beast in his very own horror story. What was he supposed to do?

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M GOING TO FIX IT I PROMISE YOU! D:'


	32. Chapter 32

Oliver had proudly come to school wearing the longest scarf Opal had ever seen, wrapped twice around his neck it was so long, in so many colors it was dizzying, and declared he made it himself. He turned red as the apple in Robbi's lunchbox when Alyssa jumped him in the coat room and examined it, and Mrs. Nolan had him stand in front of the class to show everyone his handiwork.

"Aw," Opal punched his arm at lunch time. "I'm gonna have to fend off people with a stick now for your great needleworking skills. C'mon man, show some loyalty to the girl who can't stitch."

"I can show you how to knit if you're that worried," Oliver stole one of her Cheetos in retaliation. "Maybe Sunday?"

"Hey, get me some knitting needles for my birthday and we can make a group out of it," Garrick said.

"I'll get those!" Robbi said quickly. "I didn't know it was your birthday, how soon?"

"The 9th, next Sunday."

And just like that, there was another kid, (and probably Regina,) coming to Garrick's birthday party. The part of Opal that was wary thought Robbi was just slumming with them because she couldn't make friends with anyone else. Another part of her had to admit Robbi wasn't as obnoxious as she used to be, especially since she stopped hanging around with Neal. She wasn't the devil incarnate, but Opal had plenty of insults still floating around in her head from previous years.

And Robbi already hurt Garrick once, she wasn't gonna get lucky a second time. Speaking of time though...where the hell was Oliver?

Since he'd read this book already, Oliver encouraged them to read on ahead while he used the restroom during the end of recess. Opal had been reading it aloud since Garrick had a little trouble reading clearly to other people, and by the time the bell rang signaling it was time to head back in, Oliver was still absent. And there was no missing him and that scarf.

Opal tucked his book into his abandoned backpack and lugged it in with them. Robbi had struck up some speculation with Garrick wondering what could be keeping him.

"Could he have gotten lost?" Robbi wondered. "Or maybe, like, caught by Mr. Crane and lectured?"

"Mm, maybe that second one. _Oh_. I'll bet he's wearing the wrong pants again."

"What?"

"Oliver's got this pair of pants, see, with a zipper that catches the fly so it won't pull up easy."

"So why doesn't he get new pants?"

"He always forgets until he's wearing them."

"That's kinda stupid."

For once, Opal might agree whole-heartedly. At least that's what she was thinking about saying when a wail went up from the front of the crowd headed back to class and everyone stopped.

A voice that sounded like Ruth Nolan shrieked, _"Neal!"_  and everyone started talking at once. Some teacher at the front, Mrs. Robinson she thought, told them to keep back, so everyone stayed back while simultaneous craning their necks to see what was going on. Since they were near the very back of the line, Opal couldn't see what was going on at all, but she could sorta hear the murmurs as they made their way back.

_"What's happened?"_

_"It's Neal Nolan!"_

_"What?"_

_"Holy crap, there's a dent in the lockers where he slammed into them!"_

_"Oh my god."_

_"I guess he ran off if he's not here."_

_"Did you hear that?"_

_"Yeah. Whoa."_

"What?" Garrick blurted out, tugging on the hem of a eighth grader's coat. "What happened? Hear what?"

Opal couldn't tell the kids above her grade apart, with a few exceptions. And she was certain that a trio of puny fourth graders were below the lofty status of fourteen-and-thirteen year old kids like these, so there was a comforting anonymous factor when the two boys turned. The taller one said; "Tommy Herman and Neal Nolan are up in front with the teachers. They're saying that Gold boy blew Neal out the bathroom and into the lockers, and he's got some broken bones or something, I dunno."

"What?" Opal's stomach did a flip.

The other, darker-haired one said. "My dad said it was just a matter of time before that kid had magic. I wonder if they're gonna expell him for this."

"I'd give him a medal first."

"Dude."

"What? C'mon, I got a kid sister in their class and they need a good knocking around. Jenny says they started a fight in the mines when one sucker punched Gold's kid."

"Yeah but c'mon, if this is payback it's a little much, doncha think?"

Opal stopped listening to them and picked up on what a couple of fifth graders nearby were saying. Something about Mrs. Nolan getting on the phone right now. And if her stomach was flipping before, it dropped to her toes now. If Mrs. Nolan was on the phone, there was only two people she could be calling. One might possibly be the hospital. The other possibility...was the sheriff's station. And while Opal wasn't entirely sure about everything that happened after the Black Cauldron, she did know that the Charming Family were happy to leave Gold to rot...

She shoved Oli's backpack at Garrick and wiggled through the two or three people behind them, marching for the doors leading out to the playground. She briefly heard Garrick say something to Robbi before the sound of sneakers (sneakily) pounding the floor, and then he was scurrying out the door beside her.

"Where are you going?" he asked as they sprinted for the fence.

"If Oli did this and ran off, who do you think is going to go out looking for him?"

"Uh...his parents? The sheriff's-Holy crap!" Garrick wasn't a genius but he caught on when it counted most. "They're gonna lock him up in the hospital!"

That was precisely what Opal was afraid of. "We gotta find him fast, I'll bet he's headed for the woods. Can you climb the fence without getting stuck this time?"

"If I do, I'll be fine if you leave me."

"I was planning on it."

"I knew you were planning on it, that's why I'm fine with it," Garrick grinned goofily, wiggling his foot into a diamond-shaped gap to start climbing.

* * *

David had been waiting on his lunch when Aurora came in with Phillip holding her hand. He'd noticed that Aurora had never come to the sheriff's station alone before, and she always looked a little skittish. Probably scared of Hook. (She wasn't alone, but, just when David was making a push to get him out the office, Emma would promise she'd straighten things out and David just couldn't refuse her plea...)

He tried to make up for it by being as calm as possible to put visitors at ease, and efficiently shuffled the paperwork Aurora had incurred with her fender-bender with a mailbox. Phil and Stephanie were fighting in the backseat and she'd turned around, she had explained nervously when David came to check on her at the scene, and sort of ran right into the thing.

David never threw stones about distracted drivers, (not when he almost drove into a ditch after eight-month-old Ruth threw a pacificer at him,) and just told her to come pay the fine two weeks from the accident. Which was now.

So here they were, and David had it sorted quickly. He wasn't going to keep them here with Aurora looking so pale and nervous, but he _did_ want to apologize for Neal's behavior.

"I'm sorry for what happened Saturday, Aurora," he said sincerely, handing them their copy of the paperwork. Legal purposes and whatnot. "We had a bit of a talk with Neal and-"

"What are you talking about?" she blinked. "Didn't Neal just get sick Saturday at the stables?"

Alarm bells went off in David's head immediately. No. Oh no. He wouldn't have... but Aurora didn't have a single reason to play dumb. Right? Oh crap.

"So Neal wasn't at your house Saturday morning, early? Nobody was?"

"No...no, I was home by myself, Stephanie was out playing with Lydia."

David had never felt so angry he was _calm_   before. So his son had lied to their faces and accepted their praise for honesty anyway. He vaguely remembered, now, a memory of when he was thirteen and had gotten in trouble for something disappointing, and his mother had looked at him and sighed. _"David, I love you so much, but there are times when a parent just wants to slap their children silly because of the things they do!"_

Suddenly he understood his mother's words so much more clearly.

"Right, um, well-" David was interrupted by the phone ringing. Who the hell was that? "Uh, you're free to go. Thanks, have a nice day."

"Sure, sure," Phillip nodded, gently leading Aurora out, not that she needed help. "Bye then."

David picked up the phone. "Hello-"

_"David! David! David, i-it's Neal! It's-Oh my god!"_

He knew it was bad when Snow sounded like she was hyperventilating on the phone, and got to his feet automatically. He had his gun holster on, his sword was in an umbrella stand by the coat rack, he could jump in his truck and be down to the school in ten minutes, the hospital in fifteen, less if he broke the road saftey laws-

"What happened Snow? Where do I need to be?"

_"I-I'm getting in the ambulance with Neal-"_

"Ambulance?!" Wait, what the hell?

 _"Yes, th-there was-It was-Oh I don't know what happened but I've got him, you need to start looking for Oliver. Tommy says he, Neal, and Phil were in the restroom with Oliver, and then Oliver just blew Neal through the door and across the hall and-He has magic, David! He's the Dark One's child, he has_ magic _, he_ hurt _someone, and he ran off somewhere! You have to find him before he hurts someone else, fast!"_

"Okay, okay, I'm gonna hang up and grab Emma and Hook, and we're off. Okay?"

_"Okay, be careful!"_

"I will, we'll be fine," David checked his cell battery before cramming it into his pocket, switching the office phone to his other ear. "This is just like Emma, remember that?"

_"But Emma is the Savior! We don't know what Oliver's capable of, and he's scared!"_

"Snow. I've gotta go-"

_"Right! Right! Go! Love you!"_

"I love you too, call me later."

If there was a worst case scenario, David couldn't really imagine a _worse_ one. The damage a scared, powerful kid with magic could do definitely topped whatever Neal was hiding...for now...

* * *

Some of the mothers Astrid had to mingle with once Opal was in school were known for making jokes and rolling their eyes at how all their husbands never did laundry and couldn't cook and how it was like having another kid "but this one paid for itself," and she had been very confused. Neither she nor Leroy were going to win awards for housekeeping, but they could also both take care of themselves like adults without _her_ having to do _everything_...Belle had just given her something of a hug and said, _"Then you're better at marriage than they are, don't worry about it."_   Mr. Gold could cook and he always looked clean, so maybe those mothers had settled for inferior husbands. Who knew?

The only downside to being a sketchy housekeeper, though, was when the odd little chores piled up at once. For example, Astrid had been meaning to mop the mudroom floor for weeks, and get rid of those empty detergent bottles and some cardboard boxes in the recycling, so she made that her chore for the day. Peter and Joseph had carried the bottles out, but Joseph stubbornly held on to one large square box, with low sides and some of his too-small toddler shirts stuffed in it.

"No."

"What are you doing with that box, then?" Astrid asked. Her children were all _very_ literal, being direct was usually the best way to get anywhere with them.

"It's Sam's bed."

"Sam, your cat? I thought he lived outside."

"It's cold outside!" Joseph said like his mother had said something very stupid. "He'll be a caxicl!"

Astrid tried to translate that a moment. "A...catsicle?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh. Well then, how about you just set it on the porch while we're cleaning, and you can put it back in here when we're all done."

Joseph thought a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I oughta shake his blankets out, they're flat."

He toddled outside and Astrid shook her head with a smile. Sam the Cat had been Joseph's imaginary friend since just after New Year's. She figured it was his response to saying that they couldn't have a dog because their schedule was so unpredictable they couldn't responsibly take care of one yet. Couldn't have a real dog, so I'll pretend to have a cat instead. Peter helped him feed this imaginary pet, which became a tad difficult since they had a habit of popping off to do it without warning. No wonder Joey insisted he was a fat cat.

"Mommy," Peter asked, sitting there playing with some lint until Astrid took it away. "Can I go outside with Joseph now?"

Astrid glanced around the room. It would probably be easier to mop without them underfoot, and that was all she had left. "Okay, but go get coats for you and your brother, and stay in the backyard. Where I can see you."

"Okay," Peter said, trotting off obediently. He wasn't gone long when he came back, with her purse instead of a coat, and her chirpy ringtone trilling inside it. "Mommy your phone's ringin'."

"Oh! Thank you Peter," Astrid scooted over on her knees, reaching for her phone as she pecked his cheek.

His little face scrunched up. "Ick!" Peter declared, rubbing his face with his sleeve before shooting off to find his coat, presumably.

Astrid laughed until she read the caller ID. She didn't recognize that number at all...who was that? No. She _did_  recognize the number, just couldn't remember from where, so she decided to answer it. "Hello?"

_"Um, is this-I'm sorry I dunno your last name. Miss Astrid?"_

"Robbi Mills?" Astrid blinked. "Is everything alright, why are you calling? Is it a half day or something?"

 _"N-no...no...um...I can't talk long I sorta...that doesn't matter. Th-there was an accident, I dunno what, nobody'll tell me what happened I'm supposed to be in class but-"_ she stopped and blurted out, _"Opal's okay!"_

Well that was good...but why was she calling?

Robbi took a deep breath on the other end of the crackling line, and Astrid realized where she was calling from. The payphone outside the lunchroom. It was used as an emergency line for kids who didn't have phones or in case the reception were down, since some of Storybrooke's old-fashioned technology was still useful. This seemed more along the lines of _emergency_ , and Astrid stood up and went to find her own coat and shoes.

"Okay...so what _is_   wrong?"

_"I-I think Oliver's in big trouble. Opal and Garrick slipped off, Garrick said I oughta stay here so I didn't get in trouble too, but I had to call somebody. Aunt Regina's phone was busy so-Oliver might've hurt somebody with magic and he ran away, Garrick said he and Opal were gonna run off to find him, I dunno what that means but I don't know Miss Belle's number and I think she or his dad or somebody who likes Oliver oughta be out there helping too-"_

"Peter get your coat on, now! It's an emergency!" Astrid shouted, hopping to shove the first pair of her shoes-clunky snow boots,-onto her feet. "Okay, Robbi? Honey? Is there anything else I need to know? I'm gonna call your aunt, does she need to come get you?"

_"I...no. I'm okay."_

"You're sure?" Astrid checked, nudging Peter to scurry out the back door to give his brother his coat. "You're safe there?"

 _"Yes ma'am."_ And Robbi sounded more sure this time.

"Okay, now I'm going to hang up and start calling people. You stay there, go back to class, and I'll have your aunt come get you, okay?"

_"Okay...um..."_

The line went dead and Astrid shot to the front of the house to grab her coat. Her keys weren't hanging up so maybe they were in her purse back in the laundry room. She dialed Belle first while wriggling into her coat and running to the back again to collect her sons and purse. Sneezy had a "break room" at the pharmacy that was safe enough to leave the boys in since he took the water cooler out, that'd have to do for arrangements...but Belle wasn't picking up.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Astrid muttered. "Pick up, pick up, pick up....okay Belle either pick up or I'm calling someone else..."

* * *

Archie's suggestion of a relatively mindless distraction had Henry searching for a deck of cards so they could play a game.

Gold seemed to think it was a stupid card game, but he was also bored enough to agree and accepted the glass of water with a only mildly sarcastic wave of his hand.

"I feel like this is a more alcohol-fueled game," he said once Henry explained the rules. They each drew a card off the deck, the highest card wins, the loser takes a drink. Whoever drew the joker had to take three. "Wherever did you learn it?"

"Um...my dad...actually. He, uh, he tried teaching me poker but...well," Henry smiled at the memory of an entire basket of fries he'd lost at Granny's years ago. "Let's say I didn't have any beginner's luck."

Gold's eyes went soft and ancient like they always did when he started thinking about his son. Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, whatever you called him...he really didn't deserve to die. The constant reassurance that he'd died a hero hadn't been much of a comfort at all once Henry got his memories back. Henry had a handful of days with his father before he was gone forever. Gold had thirteen or fourteen good years.

It was hard to say which was worse, a few days or a few years, and Henry hid the sudden ache with a grin, holding up his water glass.

"Dad said he and Emma made this game up. I think it was designed with alcohol too, but since I learned with a grape soda, we're going H2O instead."

"Hmph...very well then. May I shuffle the deck?"

"Uh, sure, but why?" Henry asked, since he'd just shuffled the cards in front of him.

"Because while you learned a silly card game from your father, _my_  father was a cheat that could stack a deck one-handed," Gold snorted, cutting the deck, shuffling it, and repeating once more. "Remind me to show you how to win at Find the Lady later."

"Uh...that's a card game, right?"

"I'm certain Malcolm could have made it a euphemism, but in this sense, the card game."

It was bad enough Pan was a psychotic teenager with a cult of kidnapped boys at his back, apparently as an adult he was a lecher, drunk, gambler, and layabout. Jesus Christ was it any wonder Gold couldn't stand Hook?

They'd played exactly two rounds, one win apiece, when Henry's cellphone rang. He picked it up and didn't even get the "hello" out before Astrid blurted, _"Tink there was an accident at school and Oliver ran off-"_

"Oliver _what_?" Henry blurted back, and the card Gold had just drawn slipped out his hand.

 _"Henry? Oh shoot! I did it again!"_   Astrid groaned. _"I have her on speed dial why do-Oh, it doesn't matter, uh, so Robbi Mills called me and said that something happened at school, she wasn't sure what just that Neal got hurt bad and Tommy was screaming that it was Oliver's fault. Something magic happened, maybe, I don't know, she said that Snow White had gone to the hospital with Neal, and that Opal and Garrick left her at school to go find Oliver. I'm not sure if anyone knows their missing yet but-You know what they did to Gold on the suspicion that he'd turned on the Black Cauldron, I don't want them to hurt Oliver just because of an accident!"_

"Right, right, have you called anyone else?" Henry got to his feet, motioning for Gold to stay put. "Belle? Tink? Er, nevermind-"

 _"I'm_ so _sorry, but your number is almost exactly like Tink's except for the 5 instead of a 2. I called Leroy and he's gonna round up as many of his brothers as he can, um, Belle wasn't picking up, I'm supposed to call Robbi's aunt-"_

"I'll do that, where are you now?"

_"I'm taking the boys to the pharmacy, Sneezy's gonna stay and keep an eye on them. Then I was gonna try to find Belle and call Tink-"_

"I'll do that too, just hurry up and find Belle, or one of those kids, _somebody_."

"Somebody" that wasn't a "hero," at least. With the exception of Regina, Henry didn't doubt a one of them would want to hogtie Oliver and dump him on the convent steps after whatever had happened. If Neal was hurt, it didn't matter if it was an accident or not. The Charmings were all noble and good until one of theirs was in danger, and that Oliver was _Rumpelstiltskin's_ son...?

_"Right! Okay, bye!"_

Astrid hung up and Henry punched in Belle's number until Gold demanded, "What's going on?"

Oh crap. Right.

Glancing at Gold's bad ankle and his worried face, Henry swallowed. "There's...a problem. Something happened at school that's looking like a magic accident, Oliver ran off, Neal Nolan's hurt-"

"And the heroes are organizing a witch hunt for a nine-year-old boy?" Gold sneered, shifting like he was about to stand up until Henry pressed his shoulders down.

"Whoa, whoa! I know you want to help but with that ankle you have to stay put, okay?" It wasn't fair, Henry hated it as much if not more than Gold did, but it was true. What Oliver needed more than anything right now was his father's help, but his father couldn't even walk.

Oh, but he could talk...

"Wait a second. I know what you can do," Henry shot upstairs where Gold's phone had been sitting on the charger since Saturday, more or less, since he hadn't been using it, and hurried back to drop it in his lap. "I need you to call Tink, Regina, Belle, maybe Marco-"

"People who don't want my son's head on a stake, you mean?"

"Well...yeah, pretty much."

Gold grimaced, but started dialing. "Jefferson's usually busy this time of year but he might be willing to help, too."

Henry let out a small breath. "I'll swing through town and get Violet, you stay here and I'll have somebody call you as we go along. Ah, maybe we'll bring Oliver back here when we find him, okay? You're HQ now."

Gold waved a dismissive hand towards him as he held the phone to his ear. Henry had to smile a bit. He knew his grandfather hated being immobile, but at least he had a job to do.

Henry was bolting for the front door when he heard a loud horn honking. Outside in the driveway, right behind the Cadillac, was Regina jumping out and shooting across the lawn in her pantsuit and an unbuttoned coat. "Henry! Henry, something happened at school! Emma just called for access to my vault for locator spell components because-"

"I know-"

"You know?" Regina skidded to a stop on the steps.

Henry turned back and shouted, "Grandpa! Regina's here already don't bother with her!"

"I love you too, son."

"Sorry Mom, uh," Henry fumbled to lock the door before bolting down the steps, minding any patches of ice he could've missed again. "Astrid called, she thought I was Tink,-long story,-I know sorta what's happening so let's go through town and grab Violet, you can fill me in on the way."

"How does she know what happened, was she at school?" Regina asked, hopping into the driver's seat.

"No, uh, Robbi called her actuall-"

"Is she okay?" Regina cut him off again.

"Fine. But she said Opal and Garrick ran off to find Oliver, so we need to keep an eye out for them too, and that nobody was telling her what was going on so she didn't know what happened."

"Bear in mind that Snow's only witness is Neal and Tommy at the moment," Regina warned. "But the story right now is that Neal and his friends were in the bathroom with Oliver, and he 'just' blew Neal straight through the door and into some lockers. Snow called an ambulance but I don't know how bad he's hurt, all they're focusing on right now is that _Oliver_ hurt someone so he could be a danger to himself-"

"And other people, right?" Henry snorted. "Did it occur to her that three bigger boys crowding Oliver in the bathroom doesn't mean something 'just' happened?"

"We'll deal with that later, once he's safe." Regina said, squeezing the steering wheel. "I should have started these magic lessons sooner, damn it. He's Rumple's kid, of course he's magic. Where do you think he would have gone?"

Henry tried to think about that. Oliver used to come to the shop, or hide out in the clock tower. He mentioned a few years ago that Belle realized he was hiding in the clock tower and needed a new hiding place...but it must've been such a good one that Henry didn't know where it was yet.

It must've been somewhere good because Oliver had gone missing two or three times in the past two years and couldn't be found until he just showed up out of the blue. Just before dark, usually. Not that that was specific. It just meant he had a great hiding place...

* * *

Ruby had dropped some dirty plates into the kitchen, and went to check her phone for messages since it was knocking on her own lunch break.

She'd been planning to take some sandwiches with her over to the animal shelter for Dorothy and her to share. Todd was there, too, trying to talk Mommy into letting him keep one of the newborn pups from Lady and Tramp's litter.

( _Tramp_ Ruby had named even though the scruffy gray mutt was every inch Dorothy's dog, and when he accidentally knocked up a pretty little brown spaniel because Dorothy must not have been keeping a close eye on him when she brought him to the shelter, the puppy-mama couldn't be anything else but _Lady_ , and they planned to adopt her anyway as soon as her little ones were weaned...and to have both fixed to avoid any sequels.)

But before Ruby could get to her purse in the back, she heard Granny bellow: "GET OUT OR BY ALL THE GODS TO HAVE LIVED I'LL THROW YOU OUT MYSELF!"

Ruby hurried out the kitchens to find her eighty-year-old grandmother behind the counter with her crossbow in her hands, levelled at David in the silent diner as he took a big step back.

She wasn't sure what had happened, but obviously it wasn't good. The last time Granny brought out the crossbow had been when they'd barricaded the doors against the Cauldron-Born, with Lydia and Todd behind her and Dorothy arming herself with a large kitchen knife. The undead weren't beating at their doors and windows and there was no villan/villaness cackling atop a table, so Ruby was really unclear on what could set Granny off.

"Whoa, Granny! Granny, put that down." David said, trying to reason with her. "You don't understand, we're not-"

"I'm old, not deaf!" Granny thundered, pulling back the bolt. "I understood you just fine! OUT!"

"But-" David looked around the diner then, at the gawking diners and finally his eyes fell on Ruby. "Ruby! I need to ask you a favor-"

_**Thwack!!** _

An arrow whipped past his ear then, stabbing into the wall just over poor Archie Hopper's head.

Granny reached under the counter for another bolt. "Ruby don't you dare talk to this disgrace of a sheriff's deputy! He's not asking for a favor, not now, not _ever_ again."

"Granny-"

Archie, with courage that was most admirable, stood up from his seat, even if he almost been shot a minute ago. "David. I think you need to leave, before the situation escalates."

That must be therapist speak for _Put the shovel down and stop digging in deeper,_ because David swallowed and he went out the door with what was left of his dignity. Ruby followed Granny's trajectory towards the table, and figured they were going to declare he and Belle's meal on the house as an apology for-

"Belle. Ruby. Come with me," she ordered. "Now."

Oh boy. Ruby hadn't heard that voice directed at her in ages. She smiled ruefully at Archie. "Sorry about-"

"I-I'm okay, um, I'm okay," he said, his voice shaking only a little now. "Um. I-I'll just pay and-"

"Don't bother, it's on the house," Granny said, marching out the door. "Lisa! You're in charge until I get back!"

"Uh, y-yes ma'am-"

"Shake a leg girls, I'll explain when we get there."

 _There_ , apparently, was the library, and on the elevator ride upstairs, Granny told Ruby and Belle the "favor" David had wanted:

"He wanted to ask you, Ruby, to track down Oliver for him. There's been an incident at school, and he's run off somewhere and Neal's in the hospital-"

"What?" Belle's face turned white. "What happened?"

"I didn't ask that, the point is that your son is in trouble, so we're going to find him before they do. I won't say I'll ever trust that boy's father, but he didn't deserve to be locked up under the hospital just for standing in the wrong place, and I won't have them do the same to Oliver."

"R-right...so...wh-what do we-Wait why didn't they call me?" Belle dug in her purse for her phone as she withdrew the key to the apartment's door, so that Ruby had to take it from her and unlock the place.

Ruby would never smile and be buddies with Gold. What Belle had divulged of what she'd missed in the past few years, that girl was within her rights not to want to get back together...but she also was within the rights to make her own damn choice about it. Gold wasn't the snarling, evil fairytale villain he used to be. The only snarling he did lately was mostly when someone tried to take advantage of his son, stuff any parent would do. Ruby had to admit once she and Dorothy had taken on Lydia and Todd that there was very little that was too high a price to pay for your child's safety.

Snow, Emma, and Hook, maybe David too, if the diner was indicative, seemed to think that the only safe Gold was one on a short leash. And they weren't above circumventing Belle's wishes and opinions either...or warping them until she was on their side.

That didn't seem to be an issue anymore. Not since the mines when Snow's hypocrisy was out in the open...

Ruby had been freaking out about Dorothy in the Underworld, she hadn't noticed much of anything outside of their mission to get her back to Oz. But had Snow always been so...selfish? So driven to blaming other people to keep her own clear of it? Emma was certainly unrecognizable, too. The people Ruby used to think of as the pinnacle of right had become so hypocritical about family and justice that she'd been scared of them turning on her: A bi werewolf who's True Love was a woman she was raising children with.

Maybe she'd made the right choice to keep them at a distance...even if they didn't seem to notice it.

"Shit!" Belle cursed out the blue, and Ruby turned her head to where she was staring at the phone in her hand like she was going to burst into tears. "My bloody phone's dead! I must've forgotten to charge it! _Oh god_ -"

"Nevermind that," Granny squeezed Belle's hand, shifting the crossbow under her arm. "Go get something of Oliver's, a shirt or something he's worn. We'll find him and sort everything out after that."

"R-right, I'll go get one. Um..." Belle hurried to the little room the dwarves had added in while they'd been fixing up the place for her and Oliver to live in after he'd been born. She came back with a little black t-shirt that reeked of his scent, probably his pajamas, and handed it nervously to Ruby.

Poor Belle.

She'd reached out to Ruby immediately after she and Dorothy came home, just because she was a sweet person like that, and had helped Lydia with her letters when she was having some trouble keeping up in kindergarten since she only knew what Ruby and Dorothy had taught her in bits and pieces. She was the kind of gal that would give you the shirt off her back because you needed it, but few people in town extended the same kindness to her.

Well, this was something Ruby could do at least...she flashed a red grin. "Perfect. Let's go find your boy."

Belle smiled back weakly.

"Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To distract you: **http://shepherdinthevalleyofdeath.tumblr.com/post/159823907033/the-unresolved-chapter-30**
> 
> Some beautiful artwork by Shepherd23 I totally meant to show off and give extra praise for last week. It's of Oliver and his scarf, maybe go look at it and ease some of the pain...I promise it's gonna get better though, I do! I fell behind a bit on this because of my Menagerie fic, but if I do get enough written I might be able to ninja-update something sooner than next week! :3


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run fast, run far, Jennifer Morrison. Have fun with your new projects and may you never start out as one of the top bananas reduced to the weepy damsel-in-distress when you are a main character.
> 
> (That being said, it's time to play "Emma wake up that's not okay!" once again here on The Unresolved! *cue 70's game show music, I'm thinking Match Game, but you go right ahead and read now*)

Oliver hadn't stopped running until his legs were wobbly and his lungs hurt from breathing the frosty air, but his skin was burning hot under his coat. He was sure he read somewhere that sweating in the cold was bad, but he didn't care either. He needed to be as far away from school, from Storybrooke, from people, as possible. He'd ran and he'd ran, and ran and ran, until he tripped over a tree root and crashed into a thick pile of snow.

Snowflakes were ice crystals. He'd read that somewhere too. Frozen water that stung his face and _hurt_ where the tears were streaking down his face.

Oliver stumbled to his feet and scrubbed his face with the end of his stupid scarf. Why had he made so many blocks? It didn't look cool, it looked stupid. That morning Mrs. Nolan had him stand in front of the class and everybody stared and he hated it, he hated people staring at him, he hated Mrs. Nolan for making him do it, he hated that everyone was watching, he hated _everything_ today.

And everything hated him, too.

Every other time he snuck out here to his secret place to hide, it wasn't snowing and dead. The evergreen that looked like a year-round Christmas tree was sprinkled in white and sparkling in the sun, though, so he wasn't lost...yet.

Small snowflakes were dropping from the sky, from the heavy gray clouds overhead. It was gonna snow, a lot, Oliver could tell, but he didn't care either. Crying in the freezing snow didn't sound very appealing though, so he stopped and looked around to get his bearings. How far was he from-

A hand grabbed Oliver's shoulder and spun him around.

"Not so fast, lad." Hook sneered, and Oliver's eyes dropped to the shiny silver curve where his left hand should've been. He hadn't held Cleo a lot as a baby because he probably would've impaled her skull. Why didn't he ever take it off and get a regular prosthetic hand? "Just where do you think you're off too?"

Oliver looked up from the hook to the leather coat's collar. He couldn't move. He wanted to run, scream, panic, but he couldn't _move_.

"This is a fine time for you to be a coward!" Hook gave him a rough shake, and Oliver's teeth clacked as his head bobbed. "D'you have any idea what you've done? Look at me!" he shook Oliver again until he brought his eyes up to the stupidly unshaven chin. Papa's stubble made him look sleepy, this just made Hook look like he didn't know what hygiene was. "Look at me you miserable bastard! D'you know what you did or did you just run like your coward of a father? Answer me!"

 _That_ made Oliver look him in the eye.

Hook was mad, but Oliver didn't know if it was at him or not. Hook was just like Moe, and maybe that was why Oliver had never liked either of them. To them, no matter what he did, he'd always be Papa's freak of a son.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Hook was leaning down in his face to yell, " _You could have killed that boy you horrible little wretch_!"

Anger flared in Oliver's chest, overriding the fear that he was gonna be found only after the spring thaw. He tried to pry Hook's hand off him and snapped, "And Neal almost killed my papa!"

"What the hell are you nattering about?"

"I heard Neal and Tommy say they knocked my father down the steps Saturday morning, so don't you dare say I'm worse than he is-"

"You _are_ worse than he is!" Hook snapped, the dull curve of his namesake thwacking against Oliver's cheek dangerously close to his eye. It hurt. Enough that the hand crushing his shoulder was the only thing keeping him upright for a minute, and Oliver had stars dancing in his left eye as the sharper point was pressed against his windpipe. "Just by nature of your breathing you're worse than he is!"

Oliver shut his eyes. The metal at his neck was cold. His face hurt. _He_ hurt. He was scared and angry and cold and wanted somebody to come and save him, but there were no heroes that would save him in Storybrooke.

"Look me in the eye you slimy little bastard! The Crocodile ruins everything he touches, of course his foul little bastard would be the same!"

"GO AWAY!"

There was a rush of warm air and a blaze of light. And Hook was soaring through the air smack into a snowdrift with a soft thud.

And he stayed there.

Oliver waited a moment. Did he...had he...was Hook...?

Maybe it was cowardice, but he didn't want to stay to find out, either. Oliver started running again, because if Hook had come looking for him, his wife wouldn't be far behind, and the Savior probably wouldn't be blown aside as easily as her husband was...god this day was a mess. He started out wearing his new scarf and was probably gonna end it sitting in a jail cell.

* * *

The paper bag of lunches was forgotten on the bug's backseat when David called to tell them what happened. Emma hadn't thought of Oliver as a particularly violent child before, but she didn't claim to know him well either, maybe she was wrong? Her mother had an ambulance come whisk Neal to the hospital, and so it was up to them to track down Oliver before someone else got hurt. They split up to cover more ground. She and Killian would head to the woods near school and start looking outside of town, David was going to round up some additional forces in town while he searched there. It shouldn't be that hard to spot one running kid...but then Emma remembered how easy it was for Henry to run off when he was that age.

She wanted to call Henry, since he was Oliver's, er, nephew, and was likely to understand him best. But Killian said it would be a better use of time to call Regina for a locator spell, first, so that's what she did.

Regina had taken to keeping her vault locked up tight as a drum since Zelena went (back) off the deep end so that she wouldn't cause anymore trouble, and had warded Gold's shop similarly against break-ins. Emma wasn't sure what constituted the difference in "visitor" and "break-in" for a place of business, but Regina knew what she was doing. With Gold de-Dark One'd and Zelena under wraps, she could probably vie with Maleficent for most powerful magic-user in town. But Regina had demurred, saying she'd need time. Killian pulled the phone out Emma's hand while she was driving and snapped that they didn't have time, and Regina hung up on him.

Killian had thrown her phone in the backseat, and Emma didn't remember it until now when she was patting her pockets. Damn. She wanted to call him to say she was taking someone back to school...even if it wasn't Oliver.

Emma recognize this one as Leroy and Astrid's daughter. She was short, sturdy girl with Astrid's brown eyes, and a round face framed by brown curls this side of frizzy, and was very hard to miss just wandering around in the woods like she was. Actually, now that she thought about it, Cleo had mentioned something about _Opal_ being a friend of Oliver's. That didn't explain why she was out in the woods though...

"What are you doing out here?" Emma got straight to the point, standing in front of the kid with her hands on her hips. "It's the middle of a school day."

No response but a flat stare.

"Nothing? Fine," Emma crossed her arms, nodding back towards where the bug was parked. "You can explain it to your parents, and I'm calling your teacher, too."

Opal scoffed, folding her arms, too. "Yeah. You go ahead and call your mom."

"Hey, watch your attitude, young lady. That's no way to talk to people."

"Who says I _want_ to talk to _you_?"

"Oh god," Emma groaned, shaking her head. "You really are Leroy's kid, aren't you?"

Snorting, Opal began shuffling through the snow like she couldn't be bothered with this. (Yeah. Leroy's through and through.) "So am I under arrest or what?"

"What? No, no of course not, but I don't think your parents are going to like hearing you cut class." Maybe a little pressure might get her to reveal why she was out here? "Kind of a strange place to play hooky. I'd have gone somewhere there was hot chocolate, especially with this weather..."

"I'm the outdoorsy type," she shrugged, not missing a beat. "And you don't know my parents very well. Or much about a lot of people, either, I bet you don't even know my name."

"Opal."

"Uh-huh...and my dad's last name is...?"

All the dwarves had different surnames, given they weren't related during the first curse, that went on their paperwork. Leroy had incurred a lot of public intoxication and disorderly conduct charges under the curse, and also a few afterwards. He hadn't spent a night in jail for about ten years though...that was old paperwork and Emma couldn't recall it off the top of her head-

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

"You know, nobody likes a smart mouth," Emma frowned. Okay, so she forgot, there were a lot of names to keep up with in Storybrooke though. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I'm just out here trying to do my job."

Opal fluffed her hair out, shaking off the snow accumulating on it and everything under the sky. "So when did the Savior's job start including hunting kids?"

"Hey, we're not hunting Oliver, we're just trying to get him home before he hurts himself. Okay? Nobody wants to hurt him, we only wanna help. I know how scary it can be when your powers start acting up, and running away won't help. I blew out the side of-"

"The sheriff's station, and almost dropped a lamp post on your dad, yeah, I know. Do you have any idea how much unpaid labor my dad and uncles did for you people at the height of Storybrooke's weirdness? Like, a lot. They put the drywall back up, you were probably too busy running from that angry mob tracking you through the woods to notice."

"There wasn't a mob after me, and I just...I just needed some space..."

"Well golly!" Opal clapped her hands together, pasting a sarcastic grin on her face. "Could that be why Oliver ran off, too?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "What did I say about the smart mouth?"

"Am I wrong?" she snarked back, the fake smile replaced by a look of complete annoyance. Or disgust. "It's because of Oliver's dad, isn't it? You think, what, that Oli's gonna be the Antichrist because his father isn't a handsome, award-winning royal hero like you people? Didja ever stop to think that, just maybe, Oliver could have been defending himself from your shithead brother?"

"Okay, first off, language!" Emma warned. "Second-"

"Second, your brother is a shithead, and a bullying shithead at that. Didn't you hear what happened at the mines last month? Neal and his friends were picking on me because _apparently_ I'm a freak of nature, then he called me a bitch and when Oliver stands up for me, Neal and his friends beat him down. You don't think it's at all suspicious? The only witnesses are Neal and Tommy, who just happened to be alone with Oliver in a private place when everything went to hell, and they're side of the story is the only one you have because Oliver got so scared he ran away? I bet they tried to shove his head down the toilet or something and are just covering their asses."

Emma opened her mouth to argue that no circumstances excused attacking someone, to argue that Gold's history and dark magic were the only reason they were worried what kind of powers Oliver had and nothing more...but her mouth snapped shut again without a sound coming out. For a nun's daughter, Opal had a foul mouth. But she had a point too, a very uncomfortable, very distinctive point: _"You don't think it's at all suspicious?"_

Neal had a very slippery quality about him sometimes that was familiar, but Emma couldn't place where from. He was very bossy, very proud, more than a little self-centered. She'd always brushed it off as Snow and David being doting parents, and his growing up the oldest child under that roof. Maybe even some overcompensating for how ashamed he was at being held back in kindergarten, though she was hardly a psychiatrist. And Tommy was pretty much the same, only he was the only boy out of five children, so maybe he was overcompensating by being a macho little shit. Cleo didn't like Tommy or his sister in her class, and everyone knew that Neal and Oliver didn't get along. That's why Belle had to stop babysitting for them, because there was too much fighting.

And...and it _was_ a little odd. But Oliver running away had to be an admission of some guilt. Right...?

"I'm not...I'm not saying that Oliver is a bad person," Emma said slowly, the yellow of her car standing out noticeably in the stark wintry woods up ahead. "I'm just saying he's going to get in big trouble if he doesn't get some help."

Opal gave Emma a look then, that wasn't acidic, sarcastic, annoyed, or anything she'd turned on her before. It was this patient, expectant look. For a long, quiet moment, Emma felt _déjà vu_ yanking the rug out from under her, right out the blue, and she couldn't place where this had happened before or why.

"So did you call his dad?" Opal asked plainly. "Or his mom, maybe?"

"I...I came out here to look, first. I thought the school-" Emma bit her tongue. Her father wasn't going to be thinking clearly if Neal was in the hospital. Cleo broke her arm jumping off a playset at the playground when she was four, and Emma hadn't been able to do anything but panick until the doctor was assuring her that her baby was okay. It might've slipped his mind. But the school surely would've told Belle Oliver was MIA, even if Emma wasn't sure Gold's contact information was still put down on his file or not...

"I'll call while I'm taking you back to school. And _then_ I'm calling your parents."

* * *

Ruby had been having trouble tracking Oliver's scent because of a problem they hadn't anticipated: Fresh snow.

Thick, fluffy flakes were drifting down from the sky, and sticking. Fresh snow wasn't unusual in March, or sometimes April for that matter, but Belle wanted to shout how unfair it was that whoever was in charge of snow had decided to drop some right _now_. The cold air and the sharp breeze was carrying off most of Oliver's scent before Ruby could really get a strong direction on it.

Emma had passed them in the bug, and stopped. She eyed the crossbow Granny had armed Belle with, and the arrow-filled quiver, but before she could say anything that would doubtlessly make Belle upset, Opal squirmed in the passenger seat and grinned at her, absolutely shameless despite how she was sitting in the sheriff's car in the middle of a school day.

"Hi Miss Belle, hi Ruby. Find Oli yet?"

"Um, hello Opal, no. What are you doing out here?"

"I was looking for Oli, too. Tell him I said hi."

Emma sighed a bit, then smiled in the weak, wan way she had these days and said, "I was trying to call you, but I couldn't get an answer."

That did it. Belle was never stepping foot out her apartment unless her phone had a 100% charge on it again. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "My phone died, I haven't gotten any calls. I heard Oliver ran off, I-is he okay?"

"Uh, so far I guess," Emma said uncomfortably, like she didn't know what to say, and Belle felt her stomach twist. "I haven't gotten any word on Neal yet."

It was horribly uncharitable, but Belle couldn't give a fig about Neal Nolan at the moment. Maybe when Oliver was home safe and sound she'd feel bad for that, but at least Snow and David knew where there son was right now. _'If it was Neal, there wouldn't even be this much drama around him having a magical accident...'_   Belle pushed that thought aside, no matter how probable, and focused on the now.

"Did you call Henry?"

"I did but Henry wasn't answering. He uh...he doesn't always answer when I call. He's busy I guess. I'll keep trying though, but I've got to get this one back to school."

Ruby gave Opal a very I-don't-disapprove-at-all smile and a thumbs-up. "We're off then, c'mon Belle."

Emma rolled her eyes when Opal gave them a thumbs-up, too, and put the bug in drive.

Belle and Ruby picked up the pace before the engine even rumbled out of hearing distance, and after another minute, Belle had a sudden thought as to where Oliver might have gone and insisted they split up.

Ruby hadn't wanted to, she was probably worried about Belle crossing paths with someone less-than-friendly. Granny had given her the crossbow since she couldn't come, ("I hate being old, I have all this outrage and no strength to get out there and shoot somebody anymore!") though had volunteered to stay behind and round up friendly volunteers to help, and Belle did know how to fire it. Granny had taught her how to shoot in the six weeks Rumple had been banished, trying to cheer her up, though her skills were rusty at best...

Still, if someone came between her son and Belle with ill intent, she'd have no trouble putting an arrow somewhere in their person.

She'd sent Ruby to the well. While Belle had never taken Oliver there herself, (she _couldn't_   there were too many memories clinging to the place...) she'd mentioned it was where she and Rumple had been married when he was curious about weddings at the age of five. Lancelot and Guinevere were finally getting married, in the Sorcerer's Mansion which had become something of a rentable venue for events. Once all the doors with magical things had been locked and warded, and the renter had signed off on a few things, of course.

Oliver seemed oddly curious about it, and it wasn't impossible that's where he'd taken to hiding out when he felt the need to escape people. When Belle found his hiding place in the clock tower, he'd said something about needing a new place because it wasn't a "hiding" place if she knew about it.

That had been not very long after that last break-up with Rumple, and the handful of times Oliver had gone missing since, he hadn't been anywhere in town that she could find. She'd even checked the creepy library "basement" to be sure. Once when it was getting dark and stormy, he'd even shown up at Marco's house and stayed over until Belle could come pick him up. That meant it was somewhere in the woods, not too terribly far from Marco's country home.

So that was either the well...or possibly Rumple's cabin. The only reason Belle thought the cabin more likely a hiding place was because it was covered, had heating, and Oliver had once asked why his father didn't just live there where no one would bother him. There was also the fact that Rumple had a spare key hidden under one of the step treads, and Belle had trouble remembering which so she couldn't very well direct Ruby to find it, either.

(And if she didn't want to go to the well where she'd reunited with Rumple, married him, been used to break his heart, and finally abandoned him...well that was just an extra reason for Ruby to go there instead.)

It was a bit of a walk, lugging a crossbow not making it easier, but when Belle headed up the right path at last she noticed more tire tracks. Emma's car had been coming down a side road, not as far up this way. She'd been closer to the well that way. (So had Opal, who Belle wagered had run off to find Oliver herself, she was a daring little thing.) But someone with a car must've had the same idea and come up to the cabin. If it was David that wasn't inherently a bad thing, but if it was Killian...well...Belle pulled the bolt back on the crossbow and pressed forwards. She was never so glad to make out the boxy black shape of Rumple's Cadillac parked on out front, and quickly made her way up the steps.

There were lights on inside. And smoke curling out the chimney. Maybe Henry had driven out here and was using it as a base of operations? Belle opened up the door, finding it unlocked, but instead of Henry, it was Jefferson inside, leaping to his feet and brandishing an iron poker like a fencing foil.

Belle's shoulders and head drooped with relief as Jefferson lowered his self-defense weapon, tucking the poker away and straightening out his waistcoat. He'd certainly made himself at home, his hat and coat hanging on the coat rack, a fire crackling away and generator humming quietly.

"Good god Belle, don't you knock?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized, closing the door in a less dramatic fashion than she'd opened it. "Is Oliver here?"

"Nope. I already looked, but the littlest Gold is not here. No sign of him even passing through," Jefferson shrugged. "I thought this'd make a pretty good HQ so I turned on the heat in just in case. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Belle looked around. Her eyes settled on the landline phone Rumple had because the cell reception sometimes got a little spotty. Emma hadn't made any mention of calling Rumple to tell him what happened. Actually, if Belle had to make a bet, she'd go so far as to say they wouldn't. And not because he was injured, either.

It was partly Belle's fault because she'd specifically told the school that Rumple was not to pick Oliver up when she'd gone through her irrational three months of thinking he was Satan. Or whatever had been going through her head at the time. She'd changed that back to the way it was, but Hornsby was an absent-minded sort at times. Or maybe the Charmings had made the executive decision to take away Rumple's say in how his son would be treated here.

The options were not appealing, and she set the crossbow down to dial his number. For a moment she was afraid he wouldn't even pick up for her, but then: _"Belle?"_

"Rumple, hi, um, there's been a-"

_"If this is about Oliver, I know already."_

"You do?" Oh. Oh thank goodness, maybe she was wr-

_"Astrid accidentally called Henry, and then Regina showed up."_

Okay...so they didn't call him. Belle filed that away under her growing list of complaints. "Oh. Well, I'm at the cabin looking for him. I thought he might've gone here, or maybe the well-"

_"I'm headed there now, can I call you back?"_

"Of cour-What do you mean you're headed there now? You can't walk!"

 _"I'll call you back."_ He answered impatiently, and hung up.

"Rumple wait, what-" Belle put the phone down and frowned. It would be just like Rumple to wander out into the woods with a concussion and a terrible sprain if his son needed him. Oh god, he must've driven up here and was walking to the well now. She turned to Jefferson, who'd flopped down at the kitchen table to nibble on a some boxed cookies Henry probably stashed up here. "Did you see Rumple up here?"

"Yeah, I met him halfway while he was driving up on the road," Jefferson shrugged. "He told me to wait here while he looked somewhere else for Oliver, said he had another idea. I wasn't gonna argue with him, I mean, I know how desperate you can be to find your kid when they need you. And he was walking fine, too, when I saw him. Of course he didn't tell me where he was walking to, sooo, not much I can do but make the place cozy while I wait. You wanna sit down a minute? You look like you need to sit down a minute," he said, pulling out a chair.

Belle couldn't disagree without lying, and dropped down on the seat. Her lunch felt like it was going to leave her stomach, but somehow she didn't throw up. First her son was out there running in the woods, and now her severely impaired husband. Could the situation get any worse?

* * *

Frontland winters were nasty things, the snow would pile up past the windows and clearing it had been easier labor-wise with three people, but seemed to go by faster without Milah's sneering about how if she'd had an able-bodied husband she and Bae wouldn't have had to help him, or her hissing about how they should just go somewhere warmer.

Maine's weather was damp most of the year, the snow was reliable if milder than what it had been in his pre-cursed years, but Rumpelstiltskin still found himself dragging his bad foot as snow continued falling and the cold seeped into the bones and joints, making it feel stiff and heavy and dead. The worst part was probably that he'd downed a healing potion already.

Whale was always trying to get him to do some ankle replacement surgery, but a bum ankle wasn't the end of his problems. Rumpelstiltskin had placed his foot against a wagon wheel, and smashed it with a hammer. He was luck to have the end of his foot at all, the heavy stone mallet had hit him right in the arch, and yes the ankle had sustained some hellish damage, but his foot was where the real trauma was. It really looked like someone had taken a clay model of a foot and squished it in a fist.

The toes curled, the whole foot rolling inwards and his weight had to be placed on the outside of his foot, away from the ball of his right foot. The muscle and ligaments were lumpy under his skin, discolored by poor circulation and blood pooled under the skin. On a good day it was reddish and pale. Right now? It was probably a frightful mottling of purple and white and thinking about it didn't lessen the pain one bit but it was that or go mad with worry over Oliver.

This was a Three Day Fixer. (Or so he'd called it.) His sprain had vanished like it had never been there, and his mind _seemed_ sharper. He'd never paid much attention to head trauma until this land, so he wasn't sure how well this particular potion worked on the brain. For the body, it repaired all wounds no older than three days old, either completely or to a less-life-threatening degree depending on the severity. The sprain had melted away, but it was still his crippled foot.

After a very undignified crawl to the basement door and scooting down the steps on his arse, Rumpelstitlskin had reached his workshop downstairs that had been gathering dust for the past nine months since he'd lost his Dark One powers. He hadn't seen a point in coming down here and being surrounded by reminders. It's where he'd stuffed his spinning wheel under a sheet, and had been storing some things that he didn't trust to leave at the shop. He wouldn't have ever come down there again, unless there was an emergency.

And this was an emergency.

The Charmings had locked him up on the scantest evidence, Belle turned on him, everything went to hell when he was _suspected_ of using the Black Cauldron. Now Oliver had gone and accidentally hurt someone, precious Prince Neal of all people, so it wasn't a stretch of the imagination that worse could happen to Oliver.

The Blue Fairy had been all but salivating at the idea of getting her glittery hooks into a child. Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure, actually, if it was that she wanted his child specifically for some hypocritical purpose, or if she was just itching for a chance to be relevant again. For the past few years, the Blue Fairy had been reduced to a revered-but-distant figure, the sort of character one respected but also didn't have any recent claims to fame. She hadn't helped Emma with any of her Savior business, so that Regina had been the one to train her in magic. Perhaps she wanted to train an apprentice of her own to prove what a beacon of good she was.

Or maybe she just wanted to twist the knife and take another child from him. Who knew with that bitch?

Jefferson was back at the cabin if Oliver did decide to go there. Rumpelstiltskin, if he'd been thinking straight, should have sent Jefferson out here instead, but then, if Oliver was as frightened as Rumpelstiltskin suspected he was, then only he or Belle had a chance at calming their son down. _Maybe_ Henry. With the pain from his foot shooting up his leg to his hip and back, he did wish he hadn't hung up so hastily on Belle, but he'd had to stop to talk because he needed all his concentration for walking, and there was no time for explaining. Maybe she'd run out here to the well after them. Maybe not.

It _was_ nice that she thought to tell him what was going on, though. He did miss being kept in the loop.

By the time the well was in sight, Rumpelstiltskin sighed in relief. It was short-lived relief, though. He didn't see Oliver. The tracks were there, small holes stomped in the deep snow, but no sign of his son. "Oliver? Oliver, son, are you here?"

It was silent for a moment, then a face peeped around the well. Oh thank god, he must've been sitting on the ground. The snow must've been up to his shoulders in that case, but that hardly mattered. He stumbled forwards and Oliver jumped to his feet, throwing up his hands.

"St-stay back Papa, stay away!"

Rumpelstiltskin stopped walking, trying to shift his weight into a more comfortable position while he stood. Except for the snow sticking to his head and shoulders, he looked perfectly fine... _except_...

"What happened to your face?" he asked, squinting at what appeared to be a red welt under his eye. The position was too odd for a branch to have whipped in the face, but looked too odd for a fist to have connected...

Oliver touched his face consciously, then shook his head again. "Don't come any closer Papa, I don't wanna hurt you!"

"Son, son, listen to me, you're not going to hurt me," he promised, taking a step forward. "I heard what happened at school, did you mean to hurt Neal or did you just want to get him away from you?"

"I...I just wanted him to stop talking. H-he was...he and Tommy knocked you down the stairs, d-do you remember that?"

"What?" Rumpelstiltskin frowned, stopping short. His memories of his tumble down the stairs were...unclear. He didn't remember anyone else around. "How?"

Oliver shifted, folding his arms so his hands were tucked under his armpits. He had on his coat and scarf, but no mittens, and his school uniform wouldn't keep him warm if the snow kept falling like it was. Not that Rumpelstiltskin's slacks and sweater under his overcoat were much better. They really should talk about this at the cabin, but then Oliver was shrugging uncomfortably.

"Th-they....they were...um, th-they said they were trying to get me. With snowballs? They just got you instead, 'm sorry Papa-"

"Don't apologize, not for them," Rumpelstiltskin scowled, hobbling up the hill. He'd be damned if a raised bit of earth covered by frozen water was keeping him apart from his son a moment longer. "It's they're fault for being horrible people, not yours, it's they're fault I fell, not yours. You're blameless for that, and I don't blame you for whatever happened at school."

Oliver shrank back. That was definitely not a welt on his face from a branch, but it was too thin and oddly shaped for Rumpelstiltskin to call it anything but a foreign object striking his son's pale face. That could wait a little longer though, as soon as he made it up the hill, he reached out and touched Oliver's shoulder.

He tried to step back further, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn't about to let his son think he was alone in this. He kept his grip gentle until he pulled Oliver against him, and bent to kiss the top of his son's snow-frosted head.

"I'm not afraid, son, it's okay."

"But I hurt-"

"I could care less about that Nolan boy, you're my priority. You're my son."

"I-I hurt Hook too," Oliver wriggled until he could turn his face up. Tears were streaming down his face, and his eye sand nose were so red Rumpelstiltskin didn't think it was the first of them, either. "H-he...I...he was out here an' he stopped me, I-I...I didn't mean too, I didn't, but he...H-hook...I..."

Hook. _Hook_...

Rumpelstiltskin frowned, tracing his thumb over the red welt as he wiped the tears away. It was darkening, likely going to leave an ugly purple bruise there before it was done. The width was actually...and it was in just the right place to have been...and on the opposite side, on Oliver's throat, was a mark like...

"You let me worry about Captain Hook," he said mildly, kissing his son's hair again, cupping his head as he held him close. It was like hugging an icicle. "Let's get you somewhere warm first, then I'll take care of it. Come on, let's go back to the cabin, your mama's waiting."

"M-mama? Sh-she's not mad?"

Rumpelstiltskin pursed his lips. "Why would she be mad, son? She's worried sick about you."

Oliver sniffled, burrowing under his arm in lieu of an answer. Well, there would be time for answers later. Somewhere indoors, preferably, where he could sit. Even though Rumpelstiltskin tried not to, he leaned a little heavily on Oliver as they went along. His calf was burning, his foot was freezing, it wouldn't be long before things started cramping and he was left worse than useless. Maybe he should have downed a stronger healing potion. Oliver didn't seem to mind though. His long scarf was still looped around his neck, and he quietly scrubbed his damp face with one hand, keeping the other arm around his waist, but otherwise the walk was quiet. Peaceful.

So of course that was when a gunshot cracked through the air.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled Oliver against his side, looking around wildly. His eyes settled on a black-clad figure standing not too far away, levelling a pistol directly at him. It was an unpleasantly familiar position, had they been on the town line instead, and Rumpelstiltskin shoved his son behind him. Belle's life had been saved when the pirate had shot her years ago because he had magic. Now he didn't, and they were even further from the hospital than they'd been that day...

"So much for your terrible injuries, eh Crocodile?" Hook scoffed. "I knew you were playing some sort of long game. You kept your curse once, it was only a matter of time before I'd find proof again. Did you transfer it to your spawn for safe-keeping? That might explain why he's been such a bother at that school lately, I don't know why they keep letting him attend by after today I doubt anyone would want to look at him ever again."

"I'm not cursed," Rumpelstiltskin bit out, wiggling the hand on his cane. "And if your daughter were out here and afraid, would you let anything stop you from reaching her?" It was a long shot, but maybe appealing to the father in-

"That poisonous little freak of yours could have killed me!"

Long shot failed then...Rumpelstiltskin swallowed thickly, his mind spinning. He wished he'd had one of his guns. Or magic. Or even just a fucking rock to throw at the pirate's empty head. _Anything_.

He'd been here before too. He the helpless victim, Hook the sneering able-bodied threat. If he fought with the pirate, he was going to lose. Lose his life, and his son would be worse off. Belle loved Oliver, she'd fight for him, but up against the entire Charming Family save Henry and maybe Regina...?

"Put the gun down, and we'll go quietly," Rumpelstiltskin said, finding that was the only option that didn't involve that firearm going off.

"Oh no, not a chance. I've already been blasted by that brat once today," Hook sneered, waving the gun. "You bring him over here where I can keep an eye on him, then we'll take a little walk to the hospital. I'm sure they kept that cell of yours nice and warm. Or maybe if Zelena's been on her best behavior they'll let her keep you company. There's no cage this time but I'm sure that one's a creative sort. Hell, maybe we'll let your boy visit," he laughed suddenly. "She likes all the Gold men, doesn't she?"

His stomach dropped while his head seemed to get so light Rumpelstiltskin felt like he was floating away. _No._

No, no, no, Hook could do whatever he wanted to _him_ , could even throw him to that horrid witch, but not Oliver. Not his boy, no, no, no, not again, she couldn't take another son from him. He'd kill Hook bare-handed with a dozen gunshot wounds oozing out his chest before he let that happen, no-

The ground was spinning under his feet, he felt Oliver shifting behind him, and heard the gun click. Hook's expression was darkening, He snapped something, an order, probably wanting Oliver out in front now, but Rumpelstiltskin couldn't move. He couldn't _breathe_.

And then there was a starburst of light against Hook's back, the absurd momentary image of wings making Rumpelstiltskin realize it was fairy magic. He almost went faint when Hook fell over face first in the snow, and he recognized the color as distinctively not blue, but green.

Tinker Bell stomped through the snow with Garrick trotting behind her, waving wildly at Oliver with a huge grin on his face.

"I've been saving that powder since I left Neverland, you walking pox," Tink snapped, bending down to remove the gun and the hook from his person. "I knew it would come in handy someday."

"Hey Oliver!" Garrick bounded through the snow like a clumsy fawn. "I was comin' to find you and I ran into my mom, I'm grounded for like a week after my birthday but she said she'd help and, well, uh, I guess we did!"

Oliver seemed as overwhelmed as Rumpelstiltskin felt, and he wound his arm around his son's thin shoulders to keep them both upright. Tink had summoned up rope from a cloud of green smoke and was binding Hook's hands with it. Garrick tripped and face-planted into the snow on his way to his mother's side. And while they were all standing about, Ruby Lucas came trotting up. She took one look around, at the unconscious pirate being tied up by a fairy, at the shell-shocked Golds, and blinked.

"What did I miss?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a box for comments below, and to your left is a box accepting donations of warm hugs and snuggly blankets to bundle the Golds in.
> 
> The more I write Opal, the more I feel like she'd be a huge fan of pre-CS!Emma and it's for the best that the change happened before her time. I probably haven't got a lot of credibility since I've yet to watch Season One, (WHY ME, WHY DO WE PROCRASTINATE SO?) but from what I recall of Season Two, Emma would've been out looking for Oliver without making it a manhunt. If I have to be mature and not solely blame CS, I will blame the sharp decline in credible characterization starting with the Frozen arc that started picking away at Emma's bravery and confidence.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUMBELLE+SON LIVES HURRAH!
> 
> The Unresolved will continue in its angsty vein as planned though. :)

Violet was trying to stand out the way, ten years of being with Henry hadn't made her a wizard after all.

And she didn't want to accidentally turn purple down here in Regina's vault by bumping the wrong thing...

Just as his mother was ready to cast a location spell, both their phones rang within five seconds of each other. Regina seemed to have the school, she grimaced and said some things about how she was very busy, and couldn't pick up Robbi at the moment. Then she got on the phone with Robbi to talk about it, and Violet switched her focus over to Henry.

His phone call was shorter, and he gave a relieved little smile as he said, "That's great. Where was he?" Oliver must've been found, but whoever was calling said something ominous next because Henry's smile vanished. "What did he do...he did _what_ ?!"

He stormed out the vault and Regina watched him go. With a flick of her wrist, she had the ingredients transported back to their places, and she frowned at her phone as they mounted the stairs to follow Henry.

"Robbi, I have another call, can you just go home with Ruth Nolan? Or Garrick...He's not there? Well, I don't know how long I'll be so find someone to go home with and call me, okay?...I'll come pick you up as soon as I can....Okay," she tapped a button and then answered the new caller. "Hello-He did _what_ ?!"

Violet wished for all the world she knew what was going on right now.

* * *

Jefferson's phone chirped and he read aloud the text sent from Rumple's phone: **Found him, coming back.**

That was good, but now Belle couldn't sit still. She paced around in the cabin and kept peeking out the windows, then when she finally caught sight of Ruby's bright red coat flickering between the trees, she'd scurried outside and down the stairs, straight across the snowy ground to where Rumple and Oliver were shuffling along. Her focus was solely on them, not whatever Ruby and Tink and Garrick were doing. Why was Garrick even out here? No, her son first, then Tink's.

"Oliver!" she stumbled to a stop, crouching down in front of him. "Are you okay? Oh god, baby, what happened to your face?"

Oliver shied away from the hand she cupped his cheek with. That welt was swelling, turning reddish purple. It was too thick to have been a branch, but too small to be a fist...

"'m fine-"

"Hook happened," Rumple growled.

Belle's heart stopped. "He...he hit you?"

Oliver nodded slowly, still not meeting her eyes. "I-I'm sorry-"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I...h-he...i-it...he grabbed me an' h-he started yellin'-I didn't mean to hurt him I j-just w-wanted him to stop-" Oliver started shaking all over, and Belle wrapped him up in her arms. "I'm sorry Mama, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I won't do it again, I w-won't."

Her baby was scared to death, and she was going to give Killian Jones a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. It was bad enough he'd been running his mouth saying Oliver needed a man like him around, but then he'd gone out and struck her son too. That-That bloody pirate!

"Shh, shh, it's okay," she promised. God he was freezing. "It's okay, we'll sort it all out later, it's okay."

"Y-you're not mad?" he sniffled, burying his face in her hair.

Well...not with him. Not with him. "No, I'm not mad baby. I'm just glad we found you. Are you okay, I mean, other than this?" she brushed her thumb along the welt. Oliver winced a little but nodded. Then he glanced at something that made Belle turn his head to see what.

Oh...

Rumple looked like he was about to fall over with the next breeze, leaning heavily on his cane. He wasn't wearing gloves, under his overcoat it looked like all he had was a sweater and slacks, and although the snow was piled around his ankles it seemd a safe bet his shoes wouldn't be warm either. The hand gripping his cane was pale and shaking. A sheen of sweat covered his unshaven face despite the cold, his breathing labored, with dark circles under his eyes and tight lines of pain around his eyes and pinched mouth. And proud as ever, he shied away when Belle stood up and reached out to take his arm.

"I-I'm fine," he ground out despite evidence to the contrary. "L-let's just...just go home. The wards ought to keep out any Charmings until this mess is settled."

"Right, okay, um..." Belle turned to the car. And that was when she noticed Tink and Ruby had gotten Jefferson to help with what she'd been too distracted to properly see before: They were dragging Killian to the boot of the Cadillac, his arms oddly bound in front of him in restraint while he was very much unconscious.

"He's fine," Rumple dismissed, and Belle decided his flippant tone was appropriate as she wrapped an arm around Oliver's shoulders. "Tinker Bell has it."

"She poofed him with sleeping powder!" Garrick crowed. In his hand he was carrying Killian's famous hook, and held it up where his mother could see it. "Hey Mom, can I keep this?"

"We'll have to wash it. You don't know where that's been."

Belle was briefly amused by the thought of Tink installing the prosthetic hook in Garrick's bedroom as a peg to hang his coats on. For the moment, she and Ruby stuffed Killian into the back of the Caddy, in their respective green and red coats they looked a bit like grumbly Christmas elves. Jefferson skipped back inside to put out the fire. Everything was moving with remarkable efficency, it was quiet impressive until Tink pulled the gun out her coat pocket. That was strange, as far as Belle knew, Marco didn't have a gun, especially not the clunky pieces the...sheriff's office...

_Holy shit._

Flashbacks to the town line made Belle's knees weak, her hands gripping Oliver's shoulders to reassure herself her son was unhurt even though she logically knew better.

Sure. She'd forgiven Killian...at least she thought she did. But she could still easily remember the pain, the fear, the panic that came next when Rumple was trying his best to repair the damage while she was screaming and Killian-no, _Hook_ ,-was standing back admiring his bloody handiwork. Belle felt a hand brush her sleeve and she flinched away, lost in the memories that came next: _Dragged away, drugged silly, told nothing happened so that she doubted her sanity, shut away in the hospital and forgotten again, until she got a phone call from a dying man-_

Rumple's hand withdrew as quickly as it touched her, and his eyes turned down with too much shame. Before Belle could say a word, he swallowed thickly and mumbled, "I n-need to get in the car..."

Belle nodded dumbly. He trudged three steps before his hand started wobbling on his cane, and Belle slipped under his other arm, trying to help him stand. She felt Rumple trying not to lean on her at first, but by the time Tink was opening the passenger side door for them, she felt like the only thing keeping him upright. When she got him seated, he sat still and winded, his cane balanced between his knees. Belle cast a quick glance around for Oliver, finding him on the other side of the car talking to Garrick. She needed to get him somewhere...probably Rumple's house. _Ideally_ Rumple's house, to take care of the leg Tink was reaching for with a spark of her green magic swirling around her fingers-

"Don't touch me!" Rumple snarled, drawing Belle's full attention. He swatted Tink's hand away, gripping his cane in a way that made Belle think he would use it if Tink went near him again.

"Hey!" she snapped back. "I'm trying to help, don't you yell at me!"

"If I want help I'll bloody ask for it!"

Tink took a step back, hands on her hips. "So you'd rather ride home with that leg seizing up and cramping?"

Belle put a hand on Tink's arm and gave Rumple a look she hoped read as, _"Please don't yell at the nice fairy again,"_ instead of something more scolding. He didn't enjoy letting people see him weak, it was practically second nature to lash out when he felt vulnerable, that she'd learned quickly in the Dark Castle. "Thank you, Tink, that's very kind but I think it would be easier if I just drove them home."

Tink gave an annoyed little huff. "Fine. I'll walk home with Garrick and we'll take my car back to town. I want to lodge a complaint against a certain officer. Maybe make a stop outside the station so Jefferson can toss the garbage out your trunk?"

That sounded like a lovely idea.

"Call Regina, too." Rumple suggested, his bad leg stretched in front of him as much as he could. "She's no lover of the pirate, and she carries a mighty big stick as duly elected mayor."

It was indeed a strange world when the woman who locked her in a tower for two years was more of an advocate for her son's freedom than the noble Charming family was. But Belle could not disagree, and the plan was set in motion. Jefferson hopped in the backseat with Oliver for the ride. Belle cast a nervous eye over towards Rumple, who was gripping the emergency handle seemingly for something to do with his hand not wrapped tightly around his cane. He looked...uncomfortable was a mild term, really. It might've been better if he'd let Tink work whatever magic she'd been hoping to try on his leg, but green made Rumple...antsy. For good reason.

He'd thrown out all the green ties he'd had in his closet after he came back from that captivity, not just the gauche shades of emerald Zelena preferred. Belle had taken that into consideration during their short marriage, but she wondered if it was still something that bothered him. Or if his functionality was crumbling with stress and pain.

Probably the latter, she thought, pulling away from the cabin and flicking the wipers on to keep the windshield free of snow...

* * *

Aunt Regina had called the school to say she was very busy with this Oliver situation and the fallout, and that she couldn't come right away to pick Robbi up at school. The principal's office was a lot less scary than you'd expect, painted a funny shade of yellow with posters hanging up, potted plants, and a radio playing pretty orchestral music Mrs. Gosling hummed along too. It was nicer than the waiting room at the hospital, but Robbi didn't want to stay here all day.

Mrs. Gosling only had so many magazines she could read the recipes out of, after all. (She'd scribbled down the good recipes on a sheet of paper so she could remember them for later.) At least when Emma brought Opal to the office, since she didn't have her parents' right phone numbers, Robbi had someone to talk too. Tommy had just been sitting there in a chair looking like he was going to vomit all over the shiny linoleum tiles.

"What're you doing in the principal's office?" Opal asked, flipping through the National Geographic magazine Mrs. Gosling had gotten in the mail for Principal Hornsby. "Did you try sneaking off?"

Garrick had told her not too, because they'd probably get in a lot of trouble, and he only sorta knew where they were going so it wouldn't do for all three of them to get lost looking for Oliver. That last part made sense to Robbi. She thought she'd like the woods even though Mum said it was dirty and wet out there and she wouldn't like it, but Robbi did know she wouldn't like getting lost one bit. So she'd stayed behind, but she hadn't heard Mrs. Nolan say anything about calling Oliver's parents. Mr. Gold was hurt, but had anyone called Miss Belle?

Robbi did like Mrs. Nolan. She was nice to Robbi, she didn't look at her funny or anything. But she was real funny when it came to Neal, and Robbi was starting to think she didn't like Oliver too much. Aunt Regina was friends with Mr. Gold, maybe she'd tell him and he'd tell Belle, or something like that.

"I tried calling Aunt Regina, to see if Oliver's parents knew where he'd run off to. And it didn't work and I only had the quarters for one more call so I tried your mom."

"Why my mom?"

"Well, you remember a couple weeks ago when you had to call her to bring you your lunch after you forgot it?" Robbi asked. She remembered because it had been the first time she'd been close enough to see how the payphone worked at school. "I just remember you punching in the buttons. It's all sevens, and I just thought it was catchy, y'know. _Seven sevens._ And the only other phone numbers I know is 9-1-1 and Mum's number, and neither of those seemed helpful. Your mother said she'd call Miss Belle and stuff, so I hung up."

Opal frowned. "And you got in trouble for that?"

"No," Robbi shook her head. "I left the payphone, and it was kinda sticky in places and that was gross so I was gonna wash my hands in the bathroom anyway. And when I passed the boys room door, y'know how you have to pass it to get to the girls room from the cafeteria? Well I heard somebody crying in there, and it turned out to be Phil. And I thought he'd already been rounded up but I guess not, and Archie says you don't cry for no good reason, so I asked what was wrong and he blurted something I couldn't really understand. You know how hard it is to understand somebody really crying? Anyway, I did figure it had something to do with Oliver and Neal and Tommy-"

"Hey leave me out of this," Tommy muttered, sinking lower in his chair. For once, he seemed totally scared, and Mrs. Gosling kept giving him frosty looks over her horn-rimmed glasses.

"-so I said he had to tell someone."

"And...then you got in trouble?"

"Well then I actually had to fib to get him to come this way. Actually I guess it was more like kidnapping really, because I just tugged him halfway down the hall to the offices before he caught on. And then I was pulling one way and he was pulling the other, and I told him to go and he said he wouldn't snitch, and then I got mad he was being such a butthead and stomped on his foot," Robbi wiggled her right foot. "And then he kicked me in the shin."

"And that's when you got in trouble, for fighting?"

"Well no, actuall-"

Setting the National Geographic aside, Opal gave her this look like Robbi had started speaking Chinese and couldn't follow anymore. "Are you in trouble at all?"

"Oh. No." Why didn't Robbi say that first? Oh. She should have done that first. "I'm sitting here because Principal Hornsby wanting to make sure I wasn't fibbing to get someone in trouble. I don't think I could do that, I'm a bad liar. I was waiting on Aunt Regina to come get me since they cancelled the rest of the school day, but she's busy. She said I could take a ride home with Ruth, or Cleo, but I think that'd be kinda weird...seeing as how I just got Stephanie's brother in big trouble."

Opal snickered. "I was right then, they _were_ picking on Oliver."

Robbi pressed her lips together. Principal Hornsby hadn't said it was a secret...so: "Actually...I think they did, but they were in bigger trouble for making Mr. Gold fall on Saturday."

"They _what_?!"

" _Big-mouthed witch_..."

Mrs. Gosling cleared her throat, glaring in time with Opal so that Tommy shrank down again.

Opal turned back to Robbi, brown eyes wide. "How? Why?"

"I dunno. Phil said they didn't mean to, it was an accident. I think they were looking to hit Oliver with snowballs or something."

Opal glared back at Tommy. "What, did you put rocks in them too?"

Mrs. Gosling gave Opal a patient look. "Dear, take the high road, you needn't follow him on the path he's trodding on now."

That seemed like a nice way of saying, _"Don't get yourself in trouble, he's in plenty as it is."_   Robbi sorta agreed. Opal didn't seem very happy though, she crossed her arms and frowned, looking very upset.

"Weasels! They're nothing but weasels, sneaky, rotten little weasels!"

"But they got caught," Robbi reminded her. "Doesn't that count? Like, um, karma or something?"

"Maybe...but I'm still mad. Were they just gonna let Oliver get dragged off to prison or whatever without bringing up how they backed him into a corner and could've killed somebody themselves?"

That made Robbi mad, too. Not so much at Phil, he seemed to be in the middle of a crisis when she was talking to him in the bathroom, but definitely at Neal and Tommy. She was glad she wasn't friends anymore with Neal though. Leaving someone hurt on the ground and then bullying another kid into panicking seemed...it seemed like something a _bad guy_ would do. Robbi wasn't an expert on heroes and villains, she liked stories where everyone was happy on the last page, or at least not miserable anymore. In The Secret Garden there hadn't really been a villain, but there'd been some troubles that Mary Lennox had to figure her way through, and she'd gone from being lonely and cranky to being a happy person with a garden that made even her sad uncle happy.

She didn't have much of an answer for what Neal and Tommy, or Phil, had been thinking, but maybe Opal wasn't expecting one either. They sat on the bench, a little bit away from the chairs Tommy was sitting in, and the clock on the wall read it was almost two-thirty. Hmm. It seemed later in the day.

Opal's father showed up at about two-thirty on the dot. He came over to Opal and sighed a bit, looking her over. Robbi wasn't sure if it was just a dad thing or not, but Leroy usually didn't look so _grumpy_ when he was talking to somebody in his family. Maybe that's why he went by "Leroy" instead of "Grumpy"...well, anymore, at least.

"So you were arrested by Emma?"

"Emma said I wasn't arrested."

Leroy sighed again, mussing a hand over Opal's hair. It was still kinda damp from melted snow. "Fine. You're too young for a criminal record anyway. Alright, c'mon, let's get you home. Your mom's picking up your brothers, first one home is making dinner tonight."

"Can we have tomato soup and grilled cheese?"

"If we get home first we'll see about it." Leroy nodded. "Where's your stuff?"

"Uh, still in homeroom, I guess."

"Go get it, I'll meet you out front. Hurry up, that snow's still coming down and we're walking."

Mrs. Gosling peeked out the window behind her desk. "Oh my. So it is...Robbi dear, maybe you better go home with them, I don't like the looks of that weather."

Robbi and Opal looked at each other at the same time. Okay...they were both friends with Garrick. And Oliver. Robbi hadn't accidentally said anything really mean, and Opal hadn't gotten angry with her, since the misunderstanding on the playground where the word "freak" came out. But she'd apologized for that. Though there was still some stuff she probably should apologize for. And Opal seemed to feel somewhat the same, because she was staring at Robbi with the same 'are we going to fight like cats and dogs or is this going to be okay?' look on her face.

"Would your aunt be okay with that?" Leroy asked dubiously. He'd been around when Aunt Regina was the Evil Queen, he might be more familiar with her angry fire-balling persona, and that could make anyone nervous.

"She said to go home with somebody, and call her when I get there," Robbi said, reciting her aunt's instructions. "So, I guess so..."

Opal gave her another long look, then gave this little shrug that Robbi took to mean _"fine,"_   and then she walked to the door to go get her stuff. Robbi had never been to Opal's house. She wasn't even sure where it was, so this might be a little weird.

Oh, right, Robbi had to get her bag too. She was still carrying Oliver's around.

* * *

It used to be Nova's job, minding the flowers for Sunday services and tending to the conservatory. It was one of the few things she couldn't screw up because there was nothing to break, or trip over, or drop. Usually. Blue had to admit that she'd done her job well, each plant was properly watered and given the right amount of light, none of the magical plants had died in her care. Surprisingly.

When she ran off to be the bride of a dwarf, and bear three unnatural children that were a great deal of trouble, Blue had been left in the lurch.

(Though in all fairness, Nova couldn't be blamed entirely. She was a bit simple...and there was something inherently odd with that batch of dwarves. One was living with a _man_.)

A rotating schedule of fairies had been organized to fill the gap Nova left, and Blue was seriously considering removing Aubergine from that list. The mistbanes were looking a little too dry. Aubergine was the last one on watering detail, and she'd likely gotten to talking to someone.

Nova may have been a disappointment with a head full of silly ideas that kept her from carrying out her duties as a proper fairy, but at least she didn't drop everything to launch a pointless discussion with any creature that could listen...

The Blue Fairy was considering possible replacements as she inspecting their little private garden. She could swap Turquoise and Aubergine's places, or perhaps Mauve. One of the fairies in the kitchens at any rate. There Aubergine could talk and work.

"Mother Superior?"

"Yes?" Blue turned, regarding Mint. The curse had given her the name of Sister Patience, and she did so live up to her name. One must have great patience if one shared a room with Aubergine. "What is it?"

Mint folded her hands in front of her primly. "You have a visitor, ma'am. Mr. French. He refused to tell me what he wants, just that he has important information from town that requires your personal attention."

What on earth could Sir Maurice want to talk about? He was not a bright man, in fact, he was quite dull and boorish. The Blue Fairy didn't recall much about Lady Colette, but she must've been extraordinarily bright and pretty to counteract her father's half of Belle's blood... _Belle_...hmm.

This might actually be worth her time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hisses at Blue*
> 
> *points a sharp stick at Moe and snarls*
> 
> This chapter feels weirdly short to me. The first part of the _next_ chapter was intended to go at the end here instead of the Blue Fairy, but it didn't fit with the rest of this so that's in the next chapter. I had one chapter all written out, looked at it, and realized it was way too rushed and took too much attention away from the collective Golds, and it put a kink in my Progress-O-Meter that I've been trying to untangle since...
> 
> Fortunately the _next_ chapter is finished, with much Golds and hugging. :3


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was short, this chapter runs so long it's really split in two. Also don't let the start fool you, after thirty-five chapters we finally get around to some comfort-hugging!
> 
> (Why does this fic burn so sloooooow?!)

Oliver had zoned out on the ride back to town. Jefferson had been filling the quiet by asking questions what happened so he could tell Mr. Nolan, and talking about some of the clothes he'd been comissioned to make for the Heritage Day Festival until he got out (and pulled Hook out the trunk) at the sheriff's office. A nice dress done up in some seacoast kingdom's native style, a green velvet vest with gold embroidery, a faux leather frock coat in dark red. Some people wore their old duds around the festival, others wore them to the few parties that sprang up this time of year.

Some of the former nobles had even taken to organizing a big swanky party with multiple forks and stuff, like a banquet or a feast. (Oliver was never sure what the difference was...) This year it was supposed to be the Hermans, Oliver had heard one of Tommy's oldest sister Alexandra bragging about it in the cafeteria a few days ago.

Screw the Hermans. Screw Tommy.

Even before Neal had to go back to kindergarten, Tommy had been a pain in the ass. If Oliver had to guess, he'd say Tommy liked acting out. It wasn't always just about attention from what Oliver could figure, either, because Tommy would viciously make fun of a boy wearing a pink shirt, or challenge you to a race across the playground. He had four sisters, so either he was just used to a catty, competitive environment or that kid needed to see Archie, stat.

Probably the second...

Oliver wished he could say he was surprised Neal and Tommy had been planning on beaning him with snowballs. He wasn't though. Of course they couldn't let the deflection of their rude commentary about his knitting slide like normal people. No, _apparently_ , they snuck out early in the morning, planned an elaborate cover story, and proceeded to lie like pennies in the parking lot to everyone asking questions so they didn't get in trouble. Because it would _inconvenience_ them if they were in trouble for almost killing someone. Of course.

Screw them to hell...

Phil had seemed as horrified as Oliver, so that really spoke volumes about how out of the loop he'd been. On the one hand it was nice that at least one of the Three Stooges wasn't a psychopath, on the other, Phil wouldn't tell anyone the truth unless someone dragged him before an authority figure and lit a fire under him.

As they were driving along, Mama hit the pothole on Steele Street, and the whole car jolted. Papa either gasped or swore, maybe even both.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Mama apologized. "We're almost there."

"I know that," Papa grumbled in a way Oliver had come to know mean his leg hurt. _A lot._ He sorta knew Papa had a bad foot before, but it must've been worse than he'd let on. Hey, come to think of it...

"Hey, um, Papa?"

Twisting in the front seat, Papa looked back over his shoulder. He looked really tired, those dark circles under his eyes were back, and he must not've shaved recently 'cause his face was stubbly. "Yes?"

"How...how, um, how are you, y'know...walking? I mean, the doctor said you had to stay off your foot, right?"

It was just for a second, but Papa's eyes drifted over to Mama. If Oliver looked at the rearview mirror, he could sorta see Mama's eyes were turned on him, too. How did they do that thing where they wouldn't look at each other but were totally looking at each other? Where'd you learn to do that?

"I had..." he started slowly. "Ah, in my workshop in the basement-"

"Rumple..."

Papa closed his eyes. "Belle, I-"

"You took a healing potion with a concussion? Do you even know what that could do to you?" Her voice rose in volume and pitch, and Oliver saw her hands squeezing the wheel. She was either scared or angry, Oliver couldn't tell which. Or why.

"It was an emergency!" Papa turned away from Oliver to look at Mama. "I couldn't just sit on the sofa at home! It was the red one that heals the past three days worth of damage, it's the safest potion in my stock-"

"You have _more_? How many potions do you have stashed away down there?"

"Is this really what you're focusing on right now? Hook holds us at gunpoint, the Charmings set out a manhunt, their precious prince and the Herman boy are well on their way to homicide, and my going out to find our son is what bothers you?"

"Rumple you have a problem with magic! That's why I'm worried! I'm glad you found Oliver but I don't need you to fall off the bloody wagon now! You can't rely on magic to solve all our problems again-"

"Fall off the-I was cursed dammit!" Papa shouted, and Oliver shrank down in his seat. "I was the Dark One! I was corrupted, and I admit I was a weak coward for taking it back! Fine! But I don't see you holding Hook and Emma's bad deeds while they were Dark Ones against them!"

"Oh believe me I'm through making nice with that man now, but that was different! And you would have killed him not two months before-"

"Because literal darkness was consuming my bloody soul! It wasn't like I marked the entire population of Storybrooke for death because I was angry at my girlfriend!"

"I'm not defending him! Stop turning this into something it isn't! I'm just worried about what you're getting int-"

"I just wanted to bring our son home Belle! That's all there is to say!"

"Ruby would have done that! Tink would have done that! There was no need for you to be out there when you were hurt already! How-how could you be so reckless a-and stupid?!"

Papa rolled his eyes, falling back against the seat. He didn't say anything else, but inside the car it felt like the argument was still going. How could silence be louder than shouting? Oliver felt that weird heat coiling in his chest again, but tried not to think about it. He didn't want to hurt his parents, he didn't want to hurt anyone. All he really wanted was for the fighting to stop. His parents never yelled at each other like this, at least not in front of him. He was sure they yelled and fought, just not...in front of him, before.

Well. He'd never had magic before, either.

This day _sucked_.

* * *

Neal had a broken humerus, his left arm bound in a cast from wrist up past his elbow, a sling support the whole thing. Whale had told Snow that he'd have to wear the cast for five weeks, four if he behaved himself. Something about how Neal had turned during impact had resulted in the break, a clean one though. No concussion, no internal bleeding, no brain damage. There was just the broken arm and some bruises and soreness that would fade over time.

All in all, not the worst thing that could've happened.

Snow had faced Regina on her worst, most snarling Evil Queen days without fear. But there was just something about seeing her kids hurt that sent her into a blurry panic. She recalled one of the paramedics on the ambulance ride over telling her to _stay calm, ma'am_ and she must've asked Whale a hundred stupid questions, but as long as Neal was okay, she could live with that embarrassment. She had to come up with some alternative to showering for the next month or so though, Neal couldn't get that cast wet. Hmm. Didn't the pharmacy sell some kind of plastic sleeve that went over your cast...?

She'd check on her way home. Not long after they got to the hospital, Hornsby had sent her a text that said school was cancelled for the day. She'd sent one back asking him to tell Ruth to go home with Melody until someone could pick her up, and then turned her attention back to the doctor-talk and waiting. When they finished up, Snow would pop by the pharmacy and check for that sleeve thing, then go home. It was only...two-thirty in the afternoon? A little after, but it felt later than that.

They were getting around to finishing up, but had to do some more waiting. Snow had walked out of the room they'd been put in to call David and see if they'd found Oliver yet. All he'd done was break Neal's arm, but what if the next person around when Oliver freaked wasn't so lucky?

They had to get someone to train him, that was the only thing for it. The Blue Fairy had shown an interest in it, earlier, but if Belle didn't like that, (and she probably wouldn't, given how she was acting in their classroom meeting,) then they could always go to Regina. She'd taught Emma to control her powers after all. Who would be a better trainer than the Savior's guide? It helped that Oliver was getting to be friends with Robbi Mills now, so maybe he'd be more comfortable with that himself. Snow got the feeling he'd gotten his burning dislike of the traditional fairies from Gold.

 _"Jefferson just called,"_ David said when Snow asked how the search was going. _"He said 'they' found Oliver, and he'd meet me at the station. I don't know who 'they' is of course, but I'm glad he's okay."_

"That's good," Snow agreed, peering out the window. "Looks like there's going to be a lot of snow coming down. Any word from Emma or Killian?"

 _"Well, Emma called to say she picked up a stray. Opal must've ran off after Oliver."_ Not too surprising, there. _"They went back to the school, and I told her the search was over but she has to go back to the woods to find Killian. I think she sent Cleo home with Stephanie. Ah, that reminds me...we need to have another talk with Neal."_

"About what?"

_"About how he lied to us. He wasn't anywhere near Phil's house on Saturday, that was a lie."_

Snow frowned. Something stirred in the pit of her stomach, something cold and hot and very unpleasant wriggling around in there. She wasn't sure if it was disappointment or dread. Maybe both. Disappointment because their son had lied to their faces, had accepted praise for it. And dread over why he felt he had to lie, and to act so guilty for it before they asked what was wrong. It all went back to Saturday morning. Whatever it was. _Whatever_ had happened, it happened on Saturday morning, but Snow couldn't think of what could be so bad.

No.

She didn't want to think about it, because she was afraid of the truth.

"How did you find that out?" Snow asked.

 _"Aurora had a fine to pay. I thought I'd apologize for our idiot son, and that's how I found out he was a lying idiot son, too."_ David sounded mad. He was as forgiving as Snow was, they'd tried to raise their children to trust them, and David didn't like dishonest people on principle. That their son had apparently used their trust against them to cover his tracks? Well, the more Snow thought about it, the madder she got, too. _"We'll talk about it when I get home, okay? I've got to find out what's going on down at the station. The school called and said they were cancelling, where's Ruth?"_

"I sent word she should go home with Melody. Hornsby told me. I guess we should have set up some protocol for magic kids in school...he might want to talk about that, actually, he wants to have a meeting when the weather clears up. It looks like it's going to really start getting nasty."

 _"Maybe..."_ David didn't sound very convinced, but not about the weather. _"Hey, if I used the word 'hunt' in a sentence referring to a person, say Oliver, in Granny's presence, do you think that would make her angry?"_

"Oh definitely. When I met her and Red, their village was gearing up for a wolf-hunt because-" Snow paused. "David what happened?"

_"That. I did just what I said, now that I'm thinking about it. She pulled a crossbow on me and ran me out the door. I was trying to find people to search for Oliver in town, but I wasn't having much luck. Archie offered to help and he headed out to Gold's place, but I didn't hear from him later so I guess it was a bust. I should probably go back and apologize for my poor choice of words, I'll go over when I'm done at the station."_

Snow nodded and said something affirmative, but she couldn't help but wonder why David had such a hard time finding people help look for Oliver. Was it because he was Gold's son? Was it because he'd hurt someone? Something felt...something felt _off_ , but she couldn't say what it was.

She didn't like it.

* * *

The silence had started eating at Belle, and she knew she'd messed up.

They pulled up to the pink house, and no one had said another word, the spoken ones hanging heavy and thick. The freezing wind swirling inside the car when she opened the door was almost a relief, except she couldn't find the words to explain why she had been yelling. She was upset, but that wasn't much of an excuse. Everyone was upset. She had been afraid, but again, not a viable explanation. Rumple didn't wait for her to hobble out the car, but his progress was so slow and painful he didn't even object when Belle came and helped him up the stairs inside the house where Oliver was holding the door.

Henry wasn't home yet. Rumple had called him while they were leaving the woods to say they were headed back. The snow was coming down and the wind was picking up, and the sky was turning dark despite it being midafternoon. This was going to be a storm. Ironic.

Rumple gave the stairs a disgusted look before he trudged to the downstairs bathroom. Belle had found it strange there would be a full bath downstairs complete with a tub-shower, but she wasn't complaining about it now. He needed to soak his leg, preferably before the power went out, if this was going to be a storm after all. Oliver looked like he just needed a change of clothes, so when Rumple shrugged away from Belle and shut the door in her face with a muttered _"I've got it,"_ she decided to focus on that. Get Oliver dry, and put an ice pack on that ugly welt.

They went upstairs where Oliver usually had some spare clothes tucked in his room. Belle slipped out and grabbed a fresh change of clothes for Rumple, and after a moment's hesitation, a pair of his pajama pants and a sweater for herself.

She did not look at the bed, or try to notice how absolutely nothing had changed from the last time she'd been here, or how even the places Rumple kept his clothes were the same after ten long years. She shimmied out of her damp trousers, (a necessity for very cold days and the odd adventure with a child, she'd discovered, no matter how much she did love her skirts and dresses,) and peeled off her blouse and coat right there in the room, thankful her underthings were dry, and changed into the claret-colored sweater and clashing pair of deep blue flannel PJ bottoms.

Belle rolled up the hem of the pants so she wouldn't trip and walked out the room. She peeked inside and found Oliver sitting on his bed, his school uniform a soggy little heap on the floor by his feet. He put on his red sweater and a pair of jeans. He was wringing the fresh socks in his hands like he'd forgotten what he was doing, or as if the socks were the cause of all his trouble.

"Hey."

He peeked up, his bangs shadowing his eyes. His nose was red, but his eyes were dry, and he didn't say anything.

Belle tried for a smile. "C'mon, let's go downstairs. I'll make you some hot chocolate and we'll take a look at your face, okay?"

Oliver still didn't say anything, but he followed her downstairs, just a step behind. He hopped up on a barstool at the counter while Belle put the kettle on, (same place, same copper kettle,) and got out a sauce pan to heat up the milk. She was looking in the cabinet for the blue mug that had always been Oliver's favorite thing in his father's house to drink out of, when she heard her son's voice, small and thin, ask: "Are you upset with me, or Papa?"

"What?" Belle asked, turning around so fast she almost dropped the cup altogether.

Studying his sweater cuff as he picked at the lint, not looking her in the eye, Oliver gave a careful shrug. "In the car you...you sounded angry, an' I can't tell if you're mad Papa did something stupid, or if you're mad at m-me and just blaming somebody else-"

"No! No, no, no," Belle pulled the milk off the burner so it didn't boil over, then hurried over to the counter to take her son's hands. They were still smaller than hers. Barely. "Baby I'm not mad at you. If I'm blaming anyone for anything today, it'll be Hook first, then Neal and Tommy."

"Th-then why were you yelling at Papa in the car?"

"I wasn't...I mean..." Belle bit her lip, giving his hands a small squeeze. They weren't as cold as they were, but she could feel them thawing in hers. For some reason that seemed important. "I wasn't...yelling at your father, not because I was angry with him. Well I was but I-I was more scared. I got scared thinking about what if he'd gotten hurt, or what if the potion made him sick, or what if...what if he got lost." She couldn't say _"What if Hook shot you both?"_  not now, not when it made her dizzy and sick. "It's just that magic and your father...sometimes it's problematic."

Oliver swallowed. His eyes started watering. "Can I get rid of this magic?"

"What...what do you mean?"

"I don't-I don't-" he shook his head. "I don't want it. I don't wanna be a problem, I don't want you to hate me-"

"Baby, baby what are you talking about? I don't hate you-"

"I have magic!" Oliver wailed. "You hate magic, or you hate Papa's magic, I don't want it!"

Belle cupped her son's face in his hands, brushing the tear tracks with her thumbs as he sobbed. She wasn't sure where he...no...she knew where he got that idea from.

The Black Cauldron. Her wildly unfair behavior towards Rumple, keeping father and son apart for three months because she was...afraid? Yes. Afraid. But not of Rumpelstiltskin exactly. Afraid that was happening again. The selfishness, the attempted murders, choosing power over love, choosing fear over belief, claiming to put his family first when his choices only came back to hurt them... _that_.

So afraid that she couldn't see she was making a fearful, selfish choice that were still haunting them. Choices. Her first mistake had been chewing out a frightened man curled up in a prison cell, at least, the first mistake she could recall. How terrifying was that? Not being able to tell if that was where this situation started or not.

She kissed Oliver's forehead. "Sweetheart...I don't hate you, or your father-"

"Yes you do! You don't want him and he's not even the Dark One anymore!"

"No, no I don't, I-Oh," Belle wanted to cry but that wouldn't help, that wouldn't help anyone. "Oh, no, no. I-it's all so complicated, it all got so complicated, I can't-Oliver. Oh, Oliver, I love you so much, you're my son, you're my baby, nothing you ever do, not even magic, could make me hate you. And if I ever act scared o-or weird, or whatever, about your powers, it's only because I'm afraid of what could happen to you, not _of_ you. Never of you. I hate how-I hate that there are people that don't see you're a smart, amazing person, that they want to stick you in a box and judge you. But I'm not afraid of you, and I don't hate you. Either of you."

Oliver shook his head. "I don't believe you..."

"Baby...no," Belle sighed, playing with the ends of his sandy brown hair, brushing it out his eyes. "No, I...your father and I are...complicated. We...we had problems that we didn't take care of, until they got too big to handle...and then I got pregnant, and I told myself it was all for protecting you-"

"Papa wouldn't hurt me," Oliver said in a tone bordering on mutinous, looking at her like she was too stupid to see reason. She wondered for a moment if, had the real image of her son spoken to her,-this waifish nine-year-old with soft sandy hair and her blue eyes, pale skin marred by enemies that had never been friends,-if she and Rumple could have avoided that whole mess of suspicion and spite and hurt feelings...

"I know that. Oh, god," she laughed weakly, feeling like her heart was shrinking. "Do I know that. But I've made bad choices, and I can't even say I was protecting you because they've hurt you too, and I'm so sorry for that...but I have made one good choice lately. I'm seeing Archie."

Oliver's brows knit together, a confused little frown quirking his mouth. "What...like a date?"

"No way," Belle wrinkled her nose. Archie was sweet, but not for her. "I've got an appointment, just before you on Wednesday."

Oliver just looked more confused. "Why?"

"Because I...I have some things to think about. To work on. I want to do better, I want to help, but I don't think I know how to do it anymore since I've spent so long...not doing anything. But I want to try."

She was unspeakably relieved when Oliver slowly nodded, mulling the new information over until he tilted his head curiously. "S-so...so you don't hate magic?"

"Nope. I will say I don't think you should rely on it to solve all your problems. Regina should be a pretty good teacher for that, if nothing else she can teach you how to keep from lashing out on accident again."

"Okay..." he swallowed, shifting nervously. "I-I really didn't mean to hurt anyone, honest..."

"I know," Belle promised, kissing his forehead. "I know you wouldn't, a bit of a slap probably might knock some sense into them if they let it though..."

Oliver wrapped his arms around her, hiding his face against her neck. They sat they way for a few long minutes, until the front door opened. It could only be Henry. No one else could get through the wards, them being seal with Rumple's blood and Henry and Oliver being his only kin in Storybrooke. That, and Henry came around the corner in another minute, the tense line of his shoulders dropping.

"Oh thank god, you're okay. Wait," he glanced around. "Where's Gold?"

"Soaking his leg," Belle answered, twisting her fingers together. "Would you mind the stove for a moment Henry?"

"Hmm? Oh. Sure," he shrugged, going over to the stovetop and, after glancing in the saucepan he put back on the burner, heading to the fridge, probably to get some more milk. "Where you going?"

Belle picked up the clothes she abandoned on the counter, more to have something to do with her hands than anything. "I have an apology to make, excuse me..."

She slipped off, muttering hello to Violet when she passed her leaving the kitchen. Belle had seen that Henry looked suspicious, but he didn't stop her, so she hurried along to the bathroom before he could change his mind. The door had never looked as imposing as it did now. Like an inch of wood was an impassable barrier between worlds. She knocked, because barging in there wouldn't exactly be the most auspicious start to an apology, and pressed her ear to the door. She didn't hear anything inside...

"Rumple?"

There was another long moment of silence before a voice so quiet she almost didn't hear it answered: "What?"

Belle swallowed, staring at the doorknob. A twist, a push, and they'd be face to face. "I need to talk to you, can I come in for a moment? I, um, I brought you some clothes..."

Another long, long silence. Her throat felt tight and her knees were weak. She wasn't sure if his permission to come in would make her feel better or worse really, and wasn't that stupid? She was torn between just stepping forward and making the first move, or just backing away, when there was a mumbled: "Fine."

* * *

Hopper had been talking about reintroducing medication earlier today. Ironic, since blind anxiety was crowding in on Rumpelstiltskin, making his chest tight and his head swim.

Tinker Bell almost set off a panic attack when she tried to do whatever to his leg. Hook flinging reminders of everything Zelena hadn't put Rumpelstiltskin in the best place, the green magic hadn't helped. And then he and Belle had a fight in the car...

Belle was right of course, she was always right. He'd been so stupid and reckless, what made him think he needed to be out there in the deep snow? With his ankle, he was lucky to have made it to the well at all. Ruby and Tink had been right there, hell, even Garrick had been there mere seconds behind him. Rumpelstiltskin could have stayed on the couch like he was told and the outcome would've been the same: Oliver would be brought home. That was the only thing that mattered, he didn't have to go out there and endanger it without foolishness attempted heroism that was ultimately pointless.

And damn it! He couldn't have stopped a bullet anyway, not unless he took it. Which he'd do for his son, gladly, but then who would stop Hook from shooting Oliver? Tink would have been there, Ruby right behind her, to save Oliver, Rumpelstiltskin's presence had only angered the pirate.

Hell. Shit. Fuck.

His heart leaped into his throat before Belle's voice drifted through the door. She wanted to talk to him, brought him a change of clothes...why was she still here? Why didn't she just take Oliver and leave him?

Rumpelstiltskin scrubbed his face with the back of his sleeve and muttered answers, hoping he didn't look too awful when she brought in the fresh clothes. As an afterthought, he turned the hot water on to fill up the tub. He should have had that running this whole time.

He was distracting himself from the queasiness and unease he felt. He knew that. But bending down to untie his shoes and peel off his socks, things like that, gave him a reason not to look at Belle when she opened the door and stepped in. She left the door open, probably not planning to stay long, good, he didn't think he could handle a long talk right now, not without throwing up. The last time she yelled at him for doing something he'd thought was the right choice had been sacrificing his curse to shut off the Black Cauldron. And forbade him from having contact with her or their son.

He couldn't catch a damned break...

"Henry's home. He's in the kitchen with Oliver, Violet too," Belle said. That didn't sound like what she wanted to say, just something to break the heavy-hanging silence. She was standing in front of him with a bundle of clothes in her hands like she didn't know where to put them. "I, um, I'm making tea. Do you want any?"

"No."

His stomach was flipping and Rumpelstiltskin was afraid of putting anything in it right now, even tea.

"Ah..."

His shoes were unlaced. His hands hadn't stopped shaking, they were pale and cold and stiff, but they'd worked to untie his shoes. He tugged the left one off easily, but the right had to be removed with more care than his numb hands felt capable of. Well he didn't have much of a choice unless he asked Belle to do it, which he wouldn't. Couldn't.

Didn't have to, though, since she dropped the clothes on the counter, knelt down, and started doing it anyway. "I'm sorry."

Two words short-circuited Rumpelstiltskin's entire brain. He had meant to say she didn't have to take off his shoes, she didn't have to clean up after his mistakes, she should just leave, but there she was and she was apologizing and helping and he didn't know what to do, now.

"I'm sorry," she even repeated it, not looking at him like he hadn't looked at her earlier. He chose to stare down at his left hand, braced on the edge of the tub. His wedding ring taunted him, but he couldn't look away. "I...I am so sorry that I yelled at you."

What? Why was she apologizing?

"You were right though. I shouldn't have been so reckless-"

"No, no I wasn't right." The shoe was off. She peeled his socks off slowly. "I was just...I started thinking about what could have happened to you, and Oliver, and I got so scared, I shouldn't have just been sitting there in the cabin, I should've gone out after you-"

"Belle," he squirmed. "You didn't do anything wrong-"

"Yes I did!" she blurted out, sitting up on her knees. She cupped his face in her hands, making him look at her. Her hands were warmer than he was expecting, her face was too close and her too-blue eyes were impossible to look away from. She looked like she was about to cry, and he'd start crying if she did. "I-I'm scared by what Hook was ready to do, I'm scared of how the Charmings reacted, I'm scared of what's going to happen next, and I'm scared of losing my son. And you. I could have confessed any of that, but the first thing I did was scream at you for coming to save our son instead of thanking you for it. I shouldn't have-There's no excuse for it, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, I am so sorry."

Oh.

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed.

Belle blinked back her tears, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "I can't stop thinking about the last time Hook pulled a gun on someone and how he shot me an-How could I ignore that? He would've killed me just to hurt you, he would've killed out son in some petty idea of revenge, and he calls himself my _friend_ ," she snorted. "How stupid am I to believe him?"

"You see the best in people," he murmured, torn between pulling away and leaning further into her soft touch "That's not stupid."

"It is when they've tried to murder you in cold blood. At least Regina's has the decency to not pretend to be my friend and ask for favors she'll never return..." Belle shut her eyes. "This isn't about me though, this is...this is an apology."

She sat up on her knees, giving him a watery smile. He'd tried to be strong. He was never very good at it, not like she was, but for Belle and Oliver, he tried. But his best wasn't good enough today, that was just the story of his life, if anyone should apologize it was him-

And then, perhaps seeing something in his face, Belle's smile faltered, and she was suddenly hugging him tight, arms around his shoulders. "You were so brave to try," she murmured against his neck. "I am so proud of you, I really am Rumple, you should be too."

Tentatively, he pressed his hands to her back. No lower than her waist, one palm cupping her head as he drew her near. Her hair was damp from the snow. She was wearing his clothes, which were a good two sizes too big on her small frame, making her look so small and young. He'd do anything to keep his Belle and their son safe, to take away her fears, but he couldn't. He could hold her tight and and murmur pretty words like _"it's okay"_   and _"I know"_   when he didn't feel okay, and didn't know anything.

Wasn't that just their way though? He told her lies that made her happy until the truth came out again. But for a time, she was happy. Belle deserved the utmost happiness. He wasn't sure how long they stayed clinging like that, but he held on tight as if it would be his last chance to hold his wife. Maybe it was.

No one had come to bother them, the only sound was the running faucet. When Rumpelstiltskin shut his eyes, all that existed were her arms and soft body pressing to his, and the sweet-smelling curls of her hair. The pains in his leg were inconsequential, but he was starting to wonder about Belle's knees on the floor. He was loathe to speak and break the spell though. Just a few more moments, please...then she suddenly tore out his arms with a squawk.

And dove for the faucet.

If the water had run any longer it would overflow when he got in the tub.

Oops...

Belle looked at him, biting her lip like she was trying to keep from smiling. Her cheeks glowed prettily with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I, uh, I'll leave you to it. Um...right," she stood up, as if remembering something. "I was making tea. I'll go do that, ah, I'll save you a cup if you change your mind."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "Thank you..."

"Right. Of course. You're welcome."

She shut the door, slipping away, and Rumpelstiltskin shrugged out of his sweater. He had a bit of practice at taking off his trousers without standing, and fortunately didn't fall into the tub, then slid in the water and drained it to a lower level. The heat made him wince, at first, but it was worth it when his aches began to subside. It was still too quiet, though. If he focused hard, he could hear a few odd noises from the people in his house. But it just gave him the sense that the house was haunted instead of any feeling of domesticity...

Fuck he was _tired_...

* * *

David Nolan had come to Moe at the shop, asking if he'd seen Oliver around. That boy never came into his shop unless Belle dragged him there, so obviously not. And he said as much before asking why. Nolan mentioned something about Oliver having run away from school because of an accident, which made Moe...curious.

He'd heard news around town about another "accident" in the dwarf mines. He'd tried calling Belle to see if Oliver really was involved or not, but she was really sticking to this silent treatment. She had once not spoken to him for a week when she was fifteen, because he'd ordered the anatomy and medicine books removed from the library where his overly curious daughter couldn't get an eyeful. Colette had put them back without his knowledge. She was truly where Belle got her brave foolishness, or foolish bravery, from.

Sadly, Oliver Maurice Gold was nothing but his father's son. A sulking troublemaker, smaller than other boys his age, frail, with a bad attitude and, apparently, some of the Dark One lurking in his soul.

Belle had been hurt enough by that beast, Moe was not going to stand by and let his spawn destroy what was left of his daughter. He'd tried to tell her carrying that little beast would end in tragedy, when Belle refused to get rid of it and presented him with a sonogram of his grandson, Moe had second thoughts.

After all, it was really only half of Rumpelstiltskin. Belle was such a stubborn little thing, surely her blood would win out over the father's. Moe cared for his daughter, but men were meant to have sons, sturdy little fellows to carry on their legacies. Granted his legacy these days was a flower shop, but, it was still a business he was good enough at. It would be nice to have a young lad someday help him tote deliveries around, he'd thought, perhaps someday he'd even teach him the finer points of knighthood...but just in case...Moe did try to get Belle to leave the boy with the fairies. Not to give him up for good, however, just to sort of...foster him. Keep him on the right path.

But, again, Belle wouldn't hear of it and stubbornly raised Oliver in the small apartment over the library. And even granted custody to the Dark One on weekends. That must've been where things went wrong, Gold had probabaly blackened the boy's heart. It it hadn't been doomed from birth.

Despite the snow falling steadily enough to make the weatherman's ten percent chance of bad weather look laughably inaccurate, Moe had climbed into the van and driven to the convent. He didn't know their number, but, he knew that if anyone would know how to stop Gold's son from causing harm, it would be the Blue Fairy. She'd been whole-heartedly in favor of the fairies keeping Oliver, so much so that she'd even offered Belle a room and honorary status as a Sister of Saint Meissa so she wouldn't have to leave her son. It was a good bargain but Belle had acted incensed over the whole ordeal and hadn't spoken to him for almost a month.

She would have saved them all a great deal of trouble if, for once in her life, she'd just listen to him like a daughter should!

The Blue Fairy had listened with great interest. He admittedly didn't have much to report, but what he had seemed to pique her interest. Enough that she thanked him and promised to give the matter her full attention once the weather cleared up. Moe had decided that he might as well pop into The Rabbit Hole on his way back into town. His apartment over Game of Thorns wasn't very warm even with full power, but if the electricity did short out, The Rabbit Hole was a good place to be. They had back-up generators, supplies, plenty of space to bed down for the night should it come to that. During hurricane season, this was actually one of two emergency shelters in town, and plenty of people had stayed through the snow storms that were bound to happen in Maine.

Moe wasn't a big drinker, but he took a beer so he was, at least, a paying customer. He sat in a quiet booth in the back, nursing his drink, and watching the clock tick by on the wall. At almost three, the bartender gave an ear-piercing whistle and called out, "Okay everybody! If you're sober enough to leave now's the time, I don't think the weather's gonna get better until tomorrow!"

Around half the bar left, leaving behind just the drunks, drunk, or people who didn't have great heating and weren't looking forward to returning to icy apartments like Moe. He'd finish his beer and then head over to Granny's. She had a generator too, and blankets and pillows enough for people to cram into her bed-and-breakfast. Technically the other emergency shelter was the high school gym, but, Granny's Diner and Inn was much more comfortable. He was fishing the money out his wallet when the door slammed open, and Killian Jones came storming in with a face that promised a painful answer to anyone who asked what was wrong.

Moe was...wary, of Killian Jones. Avonlea was a seaside kingdom, the Marchlands had several port cities, and he well-remembered tales of the far-feared Captain Hook, the immortal terror of the high seas. Belle knew him slightly better and said that most of the time Jones had been away on Neverland, but to Moe that just meant the man had raised so much hell between absences that people damn well remembered him.

Still. The man didn't buy into Gold's so-called reform, and was firmly against Belle's returning to his arms, so he couldn't have been all bad. Gold had probably screwed him over once upon a time and made him a villain in the first place, like the Evil Queen.

However, despite those points and how he hadn't abandoned his wife for power, Moe wasn't sure what to make of why Jones was here at the bar instead of at home with his wife and daughter. Or why he was so angry. The whole bar found out soon enough when Jones snarled, thumping a hookless limb on the bar.

"Get me a rum and make it quick, lad, I'm in a bad temper and I only want to talk to Captain Morgan."

"Of course Captain," the bartender said politely. Moe wasn't a regular patron, but he had dug out enough money to leave a fair tip for the bartender. Quite efficent, he was. "A glass or a bottle?"

"Bottle with a glass on the side," Jones barked. "I don't plan on leaving here until dawn is breaking."

"Yes sir," the bartender nodded, discreetly screwing off the bottle's lid in deference to the fact that his customer couldn't easily open it himself. "Here you are, enjoy."

A burly, dirty-looking fellow on the barstool beside Jones raised his beer mug as the former pirate sat down. "Afternoon Cap'n, bit of trouble with the missus?"

That seemed unlikely. Moe had never seen or heard of Emma and Killian Jones engaging in a fight once they were married. They seemed to have a very smooth marriage.

"Only her bloody noble relations," Jones spat out the words like they were the foulest insults. "David's suspended me, there's to be an inspection tomorrow come whatever Mother Nature throws at us-"

"Inspection?"

"Aye. They'll comb through the records, check reports, ask questions. Apparently defending myself from a demon-child and trying to bring he and his father to justice is frowned upon, nevermind there's already someone in the hospital. What the hell do they think will happen next?"

"What, so, you're being fired?"

"Ha. I wish it were that clear, I don't know myself what's going on. That mad hatter friend of the Crocodile's, he had me tied up in the station waiting on David, right? And then when David finally convinces the bastard to untie me and talk like civilized people, in comes that bitchy green fairy Tinker Bell and Ruby bloody Lucas, to file complaints against me for some...some...some police brutality charge or something, the bloody hell if I know. The worst part was that David just looked at my gun, and then at me, and he just let them walk all over him! Regina called while we were standing there and said an investigation was being launched, and he ordered me out the station! I tell you mate, I should have been the sheriff, not David."

"Aye, you should have!" Another fellow, far tipsier than the first, hoisted up his glass of spirits.

"I should have, aye!" Jones, thumped his good hand on the bar in agreement. "I was a bloody great captain, I ran a tight ship with a fine crew of men! I was a bloody lieutenant in the King's Navy before that, what military experience does Prince Charming have?"

"None he didn't marry in to!" Someone guffawed, and sent the whole lot Moe had categorized as drunks off.

The atmosphere was taking a decidedly vulgar tone now, and Moe paid off his tab and went to leave for Granny's. He was almost to the door when he heard Jones call, "Oi! French! Where's your little daughter through all this mess? Holed up in the library?"

Moe shrugged. "I'm not sure. She's taking Gold's side these days, refuses to talk to me. If I knew where the boy was though, I'd let you know. His father's done enough damage. I won't have his own son hurting Belle now."

Jones lifted up the bottle of rum.

"Let's here it for Sir Maurice lads, the best father in the room!"

A chorus of cheers went up, and Moe rolled his eyes as he left the bar, walking out into the stinging cold. He whole-heartedly believed he was in the right to protect Belle. And that Jones was far better than Rumpelstiltskin, with or without powers...but that didn't mean he _liked_ the man. It was a wonder anyone liked that man, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're a real piece of shit if the other pieces of shit don't like you. Tsk-tsk Mr. Jones.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna apologize in advance for the lack of Belle in this chapter, since I had sooo much material for chapter 35 that I had to cut it into two chapters. 35 was mostly about the Rumbelle family, 36 is mostly the supporting cast that are heavily involved in the next few chapters.

When he'd arrived at the sheriff's station, David found Killian tied up in a chair, his hook missing, and Jefferson sitting at a desk with his feet up scribbling on a notepad. There was a gag stuffed in Killian's mouth that kept him from speaking, so Jefferson did all the talking first. He did not a paint a very pleasant picture when he asked to make a statement against Killian Jones for police brutality, assault and/or child abuse, and, "whatever charges you got for holding people at gunpoint for no reason other than being a dick."

Killian tried to defend himself, but David was having a hard time sympathizing. Suddenly he understood why Granny got so pissed off at him earlier. Killian said: _"Of course I brought a gun! It's the bloody Dark One's son, what the hell was I supposed to, go in unarmed?"_

He made it sound...it sounded bad. No. Not bad. Terrible. Horrible. Horrifying. David didn't even care that he tried justifying pulling the gun on Gold, (who was walking around somehow despite being injured on Saturday,) all of it was just unacceptable. Nothing like that had ever happened before, but the possibility that it was only because it hadn't reached David's ears was...horrifying. That was the word of the day.

Horrifying.

Then Regina called in the middle of it to say she was launching an investigation. Someone must've called her. David had thought it was either Gold or Belle, but then, Tink and Ruby came into the station while David was filling out a report with Killian sneering over his shoulder to make their own complaints. No only did they have the complaints...they were _witnesses_.

David had to send Killian off. He told him to go home, before the storm hit. He suspended him when Killian started to make a fuss that sounded suspiciously like threats towards said witnesses, ( _"You want to put your word against mine?"_ and _"You'll regret trying to humiliate me in this manner,"_   were the big red flags,) which caused more fuss before he was thrown out. He _should_ have locked him in a jail cell, but that would mean having to come back to feed him dinner and breakfast, and David didn't feel like being that accommodating.

Whichever way the chips fell here, the days of Emma smoothing over things were over. Killian was at the mercy of the inspection...and there were reports and comments David had personally jotted down in their files that wouldn't get him out the deep hole he dug himself. Once Killian left, David grabbed a pen and started taking down more statements.

Ladies first, and Tink sat down in a chair, crossing her legs and raising her chin defiantly. David focused on his handwriting rather than her steely eyes. "You said you saw what happened in the woods. What were you doing out there?"

"Looking for Oliver, of course."

"Ah. And then?"

Tink explained she knew Oliver had some place out in the woods, close enough to their house. Garrick knew where and he'd run off from school, so Tink crossed paths with her son and he took her there. (She didn't say _where_ , David noticed later on, but that didn't ring any warning bells so he let it slide.) She said she'd come upon Oliver and Gold, and Killian standing in front of them with the gun out. The noise of one gunshot had drawn her attention. She heard Killian mocking Gold with threats of locking he and/or Oliver in the asylum with Zelena. She did _not_ hear any orders to put down weapons, get in line, or any sort of official commands an officer of the law might make. Just the taunts that were directed to Gold. And the gun.

"Then when Gold and Oliver didn't move, he shouted, 'Move! Now! Or I'll leave you here for the spring thaw!' I threw a handful of knockout powder at him after that, before he could fire. And it looked like he was about to."

Ruby's account of events overlapped with the end of Tinker Bell's. She'd heard the shot and came running, but had only been there when Killian was unconscious in the snow and Tink was tying him up. She said Gold and Oliver looked totally shell-shocked and hadn't said a word until they got back to the cabin, just hanging on to each other.

"I didn't see as much as Tink, but I definitely heard the gunshot, and I saw the gun in the snow, _and_ Oliver and Gold looked scared to death." She narrowed her eyes at David critically, then. "Why would you even send that idiot out with a gun? After anyone?"

David thought for a moment, trying to pick the right words. "I didn't send anyone off with a gun...I'm not even sure when Killian took it out the station."

Ruby hummed, not sounding too terribly convinced, but at the same time, not entirely disbelieving. Because David _was_ telling the truth. He didn't like to give Killian pistols, and in general he preferred blades anyway. They hadn't come back to the station, and while it was the kind of pistols in their armory, David had no idea when Killian had taken it out. He had dropped it in a Zip-Loc "evidence bag" and set it aside, but he'd also peeked in the armory...and there were _two_ pistols missing. He'd have to see where that other one went.

Jefferson went last. He said Gold had called him, and said Oliver was missing, so Jefferson had gone out to check the woods since he lived out there. Thinking Oliver might go up to Gold's cabin, that's where he headed first, and partway there, Gold had rolled by in the Cadillac and given him a ride. Jefferson had waited there, at the cabin, while Gold went off to the same place Tink didn't mention, and Belle had shown up there later, looking for Oliver. He and she had been in the cabin until Ruby, Tink, Gold, and Oliver (and Garrick, who was safe at home with Marco now,) had returned, and Killian had been brought along. They put him in the back of the car and the Golds drove Jefferson back to town where he hauled Killian out, tied him to a chair before he woke up, and called David.

Tink had been defiant, Ruby had been honest. Jefferson was so calm that he seemed totally unconcerned by the ethical quandry of kidnapping. Not that David was going to say it was kidnapping, since striking a child across the face and threatening people with a gun was still much, much worse.

The former hatter had lounged in the chair across from David, given his statement against Hook, and then switched subjects: "So how old's your little girl? Seven, eight?"

"Eight."

"Ah. Great age, still innocent, but yet so wise. How old's that make your boys then? Ten and three?" Jefferson said, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Though if memory serves, Neal's almost eleven now. How close?"

"A few weeks or so, why?"

Jefferson looked David up and down with clever blue eyes before his little smile faded. He steepled his fingers, then turned his hands to point his index fingers at David. Almost like a gun. "How old do you have to be for assault charges to stick? I'm asking for a friend."

A warning bell finally started ringing in the back of David's mind. "Why?"

"Because Saturday morning, Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman went over to Gold's house to throw snowballs at Oliver Gold, but they hit Mr. Gold instead while he was coming down the steps. They ran away because they thought he was dead, so I hear."

David's stomach dropped.

"And they almost got away with it, too," Jefferson carried on like the stunned silence and color draining from David's face didn't bother him. Maybe it didn't. "Except they made the mistake of confessing in a public restroom at school where anyone could here them-"

"Oliver." David murmured, his head going light with shock. "Oliver heard them. That's what made him..."

Jefferson smiled thinly. "If that's all, Sheriff," he checked his watch, then glanced out a foggy window. "I'd like to head home before the weather takes a nastier turn."

David waved Jefferson out, and numbly filed the written reports away before shuffling out the door. Everything felt fuzzy. Unreal. It wasn't...it was hard to believe...no, the basics rang true, painfully true. Neal and Tommy would definitely sneak out to throw snowballs at Oliver. That was true. That Mr. Gold had stepped out by accident instead? Possible. Very possible, likely to be true. What made things a shock was that Neal, _his son_ , had run away from the scene of the crime, potentially leaving the man for dead. And that he'd lied to them about it, right to their faces. And had tried to...he must have done _something_ to Oliver, shoved him around or threatened him, something to make the quiet boy lash out.

Funny. Earlier today, David thought he'd never been as mad with Neal as he had been when he realized he'd lied to them.

Now he was so furious he was numb.

David hadn't locked up Hook because he didn't want to deal with him, which he partly regretted now, but was also glad for anyway. There was no way he was coming back to give that jackass dinner, not when he had to go home and set all hell to break loose over his son's head. No amount of parental love in the world could soothe the sheer horror, disgust, and anger burning in his chest. God only knew how Snow was going to react, but even she wasn't going to save Neal from paying some serious, life-changing consequences...

* * *

Robbi called her aunt...and then she didn't seem to know what to do, so she'd trailed Opal like a shadow with a furry-hooded coat.

Her aunt said she wouldn't be by to pick her up "for a while" so Opal was stuck with Robbi "for a while" too. They didn't have homework to do, crap was on TV, and apparently Robbi's mother hadn't let her do anything, so most of Opal's interests and hobbies either passed right over her blonde head, or outright baffled her. She didn't understand why Opal had glued glow-in-the-dark stars to her bedroom ceiling, had asked why her brothers pretended to have a cat, and had stared at the family pictures hanging up here and there like they were windows to an alien world. Well...maybe they were.

Since at their sleepover Opal figured she and Robbi could peacefully coexist over board games, so she showed Robbi the hall closet that had their collection inside. They had Clue, checkers, Sorry, Monopoly was best played when all her uncles came over and they could play in teams, a pack of regular cards and a pack of Uno cards, and the house favorite, Battleship. Robbi seemed curious about it, so they got that one out. It was easy enough that Peter and Joseph were able to play, (as long as they didn't fib...) so Robbi should be able pick it up easily enough.

For some reason, though, Robbi was pretty awful at it.

She kept missing, and when she did get a hit, she couldn't find the rest of the ship. She didn't cry or get mad, but she did seem _baffled_ , so Opal tried to do what she did when Peter and Joseph were having trouble. Dad took one of the little console-board-thingies, and she took the other with Robbi and tried to tag-team it. But eventually Robbi drifted off to the side to look at the notes she'd written down in the principal's office, leaving just Opal and Dad to play.

Battleship was a game of strategy and luck. Kinda like poker, expect without the pot. And Dad was very lucky so far, (he'd sorta taught Opal how to play poker, but she wasn't good enough at math to really play yet,) he'd sunk everything but her submarine, and even that had a red peg in the middle of it. Opal got two of his ships, but she knew she was done, so the game wasn't holding her attention.

That's when she sorta noticed Robbi kept peeking funny looks at them.

And she kept doing that all afternoon. When Mom got home with the twins, she kept staring at them, too. Peter and Joseph had each grabbed one of Robbi's hands and dragged her all over the house on a tour. Opal wondered how that was going while she packed up the board game. She won the second game, Dad won the first. Maybe they'd play a tie breaker later.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen "cooking" dinner. "Cooking" probably meant a healthy dose of gossip stuff that Opal wasn't supposed to hear but was very nosy about. She was told Oliver was with his mom, _somewhere_ , and she heard that the reason Regina hadn't come for Robbi yet was because she was about to clean out the sheriff's station, which meant at the very least a push to get rid of Hook. And Opal did want to hear about that.

She peeked in the kitchen around the door frame, and found her parents moving around, getting cans of tomato soup and stuff for grilled cheese. This spot was pretty good to stand and listen from. If you pressed against the wall, sometimes they couldn't even see you when they left the room. Opal wished she could take credit for finding this spot, but it had been Peter and Joseph that pointed it out to her when they were about two. They could sneak out snacks or juice boxes and sit there without getting caught. She had real smart brothers, and a dad who was bad at whispering.

"...she's a weird kid, but she's not bad, I guess." Dad was saying, rattling around in a drawer. "Where's the can opener?"

"Did it get put in the junk drawer?" Mom asked. "I dunno. I think she's a sweet girl, she's just a little...lost. If her only influence was Zelena, it's no wonder though. You remember when we bumped into her that time at the grocery store? And she called me a flighty firefly, and acted all offended, and Regina turned as red as her blouse and had to drag her away because people were staring? That's not who I'd pick to raise a child."

Opal settled in against the wall to listen in. This could be interesting.

"I think Robbi'll be okay though. How are she and Opal getting along?"

"Not bad, I don't think. It's kinda hard to tell. Garrick's an open book, Oliver's quiet but he's not...I dunno, I'm not used to quiet people. Dopey's mute and you _always_ know what he's thinking. Robbi was just kind of sitting there and staring the whole time, it was weird. They weren't fighting though. On the way over, I asked why Robbi was in the principal's office and she said she'd dragged Phil Briars over and kicked him in the shins. I can respect her for that, she's got backbone."

Opal agreed. Four months ago Robbi probably wouldn't have dreamed of doing anything like that.

"Well that's...nice, I suppose? Yeah, yeah that is nice, I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"Yeah. I mean, she made her own choice, and saw it through. That's a good thing."

"Hmm...ah, that's who she was reminding me of."

"Who?"

"You." Opal strained her ears and heard a little noise, like Dad had kissed Mom's cheek. "Sheltered sister raised in a bubble chooses to live her own life? Very familiar. One of my favorite stories."

Mom giggled and there was another pecking noise. Sometimes her parents could be _really_ sappy, but Opal didn't always mind. They were happy to be together, so she could put up with some kisses and mushy stuff for that.

"You're sweet, but maybe it's the Hood showing through, too."

"Probably. She did make that phone call to you with Oliver's change. Speaking of theft, I'm gonna go ask the boys if they made off with the can opener. I'll be right back."

Opal stood very still while Dad passed her by, then counted to eight, and walked into the kitchen. Her mother was assembling buttered bread and cheese for the frying pan, and Opal snagged a piece of cheese.

"Hi honey," Mom smiled. "How's it going?"

"Not bad. Robbi kind of sucks at Battleship but I might ask her to play checkers later."

And she would. Because the more time Robbi spent away from her batty mother, the more she acted like a person.

It must've been a confidence thing, or something, because it used to be you never knew how Robbi was going to react, but lately she was just...she was _calmer_ , like she wasn't uncertain about everything. It made Opal wonder if all those dumb, irritating things Robbi used to say were just accidents because she'd thought the nasty things people said with a smile weren't nasty. She'd heard Zelena talk before. It'd be an easy mistake to make. How could Robbi be as sane as she was with a shitty one-person family like that?

Opal felt considerably lucky that the only bad things her parents said was just the swears she picked up from her dad and uncles, all things considered.

* * *

Killian hadn't answered his phone when Emma called the first three times while shuffling around in the woods The fourth time he'd answered and snapped, _"What?"_

"Hey, uh," he didn't sound very good...more angry.... "The weather's turning bad, are you still out in the woo-"

_"No, I got dragged back to town in the boot of the Crocodile's fucking car! Then the hatter had me tired up in the sheriff's station, he and Ruby and Tinker Bell are pressing some bullshit charges against me."_

"What? Charges?" Emma couldn't possible have heard that right. "For what?"

 _"They're siding with the Crocodile, for some reason,"_   Killian growled. _"And your father got talked into suspending me, and your friend Regina's decided to launch a full investigation. I'm not the problem here, that boy and his father are the ones that need to be punished, not me."_

"Killian, calm down, I'm sure it's just...just procedure, y'know, bureaucratic hurdles-"

_"I don't care, it's not right and I'm fucking pissed! Isn't it our job to protect Storybrooke from threats like this? Where were you anyway, I could've used some backup."_

"I, uh, I found one of Oliver's friends in the woods, they'd run away I guess, I was taking them back to town-"

_"You know what? Forget it. There's nothing you can do now, Gold's putting the blame on me to get his boy off the hook, that's that. I'm staying at The Rabbit Hole, don't bother waiting up."_

And he hung up. Emma dialed again, but it was useless, he wasn't answering. The weather wasn't getting better, and Emma still had to pick up Cleo. It was going to be a long night, and tomorrow there would be an investigation no matter what. Whether it was Gold's fault or not it was happening, the three complaints but Ruby, Tink, and Jefferson, individuals who didn't have much in common at first glance, in the same day definitely didn't bode well...

Maybe it would be for the best that Killian wouldn't come home tonight. If he was in the mood it sounded like he was in, then it wasn't good for him to be around Cleo. She said she was scared by Killian when he was that kind of drunk that made him loud and drop things. Emma tried to have Cleo tucked in before he came home like that, and she'd tried to explain that being drunk didn't make Daddy a bad person, exactly, it just made his head a little funny. She wasn't so sure how successful she was at defusing her daughter's fear, but tonight maybe it was for the best that Killian had some time to cool off.

David wasn't answering the phone, so Emma couldn't ask him for details. When she got in touch with Regina, she recieved a brusque "yes?" as an answer. Ooh. That wasn't a good sign, that was the Madam Mayor voice that promised a swift demise to anything standing between her and her current goal. Emma hadn't been on the recieving end of Mayor Mills' displeasure in nearly twelve years or so, but Killian was her husband, and they were a team, so...so she had to do _something_.

"What's this inspection about?" she asked, deciding to get straight down to business.

_"It's an investigation, actually, into Killian Jones' methods and behavior as an officer of the law. And that's not counting the charges filed against him today for assaulting a child, threatening to shoot the child and a man, and that's only today. I can't wait to see what we find on record."_

Damn that Madam Mayor voice!

"Regina, be reasonable, okay? You know that Killian and Gold don't get along. I'm sure he just...just overreacted, there's no need to go into this whole vengeful conspiracy mode-"

_"Overreacted? Emma! He hit. A. Child. I don't care what relationship he has with the father, that's not acceptable!"_

"I-I'm not saying it is!"

_"Really? So you're just calling to catch up, and not to beg for mercy on that poor pirate who got caught red-hooked and is facing serious consequences for being a shithead?"_

"Don't call him that!" Emma snapped. "And I'm not begging for anything, I just wanted to know what was going on because no one's telling me anything! I'm a member of the police department _and_ his wife, I should know what's happening to him!"

Regina snorted on the other end of the line. _"What, he didn't tell you?"_

"He-Of course he did, but he was-"

_"There is a storm coming. I've scheduled the inspection for tomorrow at eleven o'clock, barring the weather, and if you'll save your questions until then, I'd be most grateful."_

"I just-"

 _"Let me be specific, Emma, I don't have_ time _for this conversation, I have a child to get home, bathed, and fed before the power goes out, and so do you. Good day, Mrs. Jones."_

"Regina!" That _Mrs. Jones_ bullshit was something Gold did to get on her nerves, everyone else she knew just called her Emma. Regina had called her that once or twice in the past with similar aims as Gold, to irritate, but this...this hurt, and Emma wasn't sure why it did. Probably because it was supposed to. Oh.

Emma cut through town to the Briars house. She had to pick up Cleo, the inspection was tomorrow at eleven. She couldn't waste any time.

* * *

Regina left her car at the office by the time she was done setting everything up. She'd gotten a call from school saying they might need Robbi back as a sort of testimonial witness to keep Phil on track. Hornsby was using this handy-dandy snowstorm as a smokescreen while everything was sorted out, (which Regina was more likely to believe was Mrs. Gosling's idea, honestly,) and Regina was just a little bit ridiculously proud of Robbi for dragging Phil before the judge...so to speak.

That was one of hell of an intiative she'd shown.

Which was more than you could say for Emma. She sounded concerned solely with what kind of damage Hook had caused, not that he'd caused it at all. Regina hated that. She wanted to shake Emma until her brain, the real one, rattled free and she saw sense: _Hook had to go_. If not out of her life, then out of the police department. The first Storybrooke election had taken place about six years ago, when some minor royal was trying to cry despotism and run Regina out of office. It hadn't worked so well for the former King Alexander, (ha!) and Regina had won the second election two years ago, too.

The only change in the police department had been Emma stepping aside as sheriff to let David take over, but she was still a deputy. And so was her husband...unfortunately. Emma always talked David into forgiving Hook, the worst he'd ever got was suspension. For this he should be freezing in jail, in Regina's opinion, but, as long as David held on to this outrage, she wasn't going to complain too much. The sheriff and mayor were united on this matter. Legally.

And should it come to iffier methods, they had Gold and his creepy encyclopedic knowledge of the town charter off to the side.

On paper, this was going to go very well, and while Regina didn't want to burn any bridges with Emma, if they got scorched a bit because she was stubbornly sticking her head in the sand, then...then that was unavoidable. Sad. But unavoidable. Today it was hitting a child and threatening murder, what if the next person that got on Hook's bad side actually _was_ murdered? This was a serious concern for the town's safety. Technically, Regina should have insisted on a professional exam instead of letting Emma just pin the badge on that asshole's cheap leather jacket.

Damn it.

Regina took a deep breath, standing on the front porch of Leroy and Astrid's neat little house. She carefully put away her irritation so she could deal with it later, and knocked on the front door. It was a quarter past four in the afternoon, Astrid answered the door promptly, so nothing was wrong on the surface. She was reserving judgement until she could lay eyes on Robbi, though.

Who, as it turns out, was perfectly fine. She was sitting at the dining room table, (which was cleaner than Regina had been expecting, and featured some whimsical bird-shaped salt and pepper shakers she hadn't,) with Opal looking at the paper Robbi was tapping her fingers on. There was some discussion about butterscotch, that much Regina picked up on, before Robbi looked up and smiled.

"Hi Aunt Regina!"

"Hello Robbi. What have you got there-"

"Nice shoes."

Regina jumped back from the table. Two little matching heads peeked out from under the tablecloth, one leaning further to look really closely at the toe of Regina's boots.

"Do your toes have room?" that twin asked, and Regina couldn't remember which was Peter or Joseph. This one _didn't_ have the white bit in his dark hair. "They're so pointy."

"Hey, mind your manners." Opal chided.

"Oh. Hi."

"Hello," the other twin, with the white forelock, added politely. "It's very nice to meet you. You smell pretty."

"Um...thank you." Toddlers, Regina reminded herself, were extremely forward creatures. They kept no secrets, and they spoke whatever popped into their innocent little minds. She supposed she'd gotten off lightly if they only commented on her scent and shoes.

"Boys get from under the table," Astrid clucked, swishing her hands at them. "You're supposed to help your father find that can opener, remember?"

Peter and Joseph crawled out and trotted off, while Robbi folded up her sheet of paper. "Mrs. Gosling gave me some magazines to look through in her office," she said by way of explanation. "I wrote down the recipes that sounded good."

"Ah, well, how about you tell me about them when we get home? Go get your coat and bag."

"Okay. I'll be right back." Robbi hopped off her seat, and she and Opal went off somewhere in the house to retrieve her stuff.

Regina knew that the girls had some past issues, mostly revolving around some poorly spoken things on Robbi's part, and Opal's short temper. But things _seemed_ okay. Astrid, fidgeting with her hands like she was wont to do, said something similar. That things were okay.

"I don't know how they got to talking about it," Astrid said, "but I heard them talking about butterscotch, and then they were talking cookies. No fights, no insults, the only thing to happen was a smashed juice box. Well that was Peter and Joseph, they wanted to see how far the juice would squirt, but that had nothing to do with Robbi so I guess you didn't need to know that."

"Ah."

Regina supposed, as far as fairies went, Tink and Astrid were the nicest she'd ever met. Astrid was a bit chattier, more innocent. They didn't talk much, so when the girls came back, there was an unspoken feeling of relief at not having to do small talk anymore. The girls said goodbye and Regina took Robbi's hand, and poofed them back to their house.

"So, how'd your visit go?" Regina asked, tugging off her gloves as she walked to the kitchen. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. I think so..." Robbi said, sounding thoughtful as she wriggled out of her coat. "I mean, I didn't say anything dumb or make anyone angry, so I guess I did okay. You know they've got family pictures hanging up, and stars on the ceiling in their house? Well, Opal's room had the stars on the ceiling at least. She's not scared of the dark she just thought it looked cool, and it does I guess. What are we eating for dinner?"

"I don't know...how about spaghetti?"

"Okay. Hey, Aunt Regina? Do you know what a root beer float is?" Robbi asked, pulling out the pot that was best for cooking noodles in. "Opal said it's just root beer and ice cream, but it sounds good. Kinda cold for winter though, but do you think I could try one some day?"

Regina hid a smile, reaching up in a cabinet for the angel hair pasta. "I don't see why not. You had a talk about ice cream, did you?"

"Well, sorta..." Robbi dragged a stool over to the stovetop so she could keep an eye on the pot, then sat twiddling her fingers. "Her brothers showed me the whole house, and then their dad asked if they had the can opener, and they had to go find it so I went back to sit with Opal. I think we got to talking about brothers, um, I asked what it's like having little brothers, y'know, and she said it was interesting. And then she asked why I wanted to know, so I, uh, I mentioned Roland."

Ah. Roland. When Robbi was about...seven, maybe, she'd asked if she had any family outside of Zelena, and Regina herself. Zelena had been happy to say "no" and leave it at that, but Regina didn't think that was fair. Cora had separated them as little girls, made them grow up alone just so their shared mother could continue manipulating everything _just_ how she wanted it. It would not be fair at all to have Robbi be in the dark about her father's first child.

Zelena had sulked and pouted until she got to change the subject, but Robbi looked...curious. And she seemed a bit upset by the thought that she'd been left behind by the Merry Men, but Regina had never gotten her to open up about it. Maybe Archie had. Either way, Regina tried to mention little things here and there about Robin and Roland that she could remember. She didn't want to overwhelm Robbi, that was easy to do, but it seemed to make her happy to hear Roland liked root beer and ice cream. Just like she did.

As if reading her mind, Robbi added: "I said we both liked root beer and ice cream. And Opal said he must've like root beer floats, but I'd never heard of one before. She said you could make a float out of just about any soda, and different floats have different names. Like some people call a root beer float a brown cow, so they call a float with grape soda a purple cow. It's sorta like blondies and brownies, I figure."

Ah. "And is that how you started looking at your recipes?" Regina smiled, pouring water in the pot and turning it on to boil.

"Yeah. See, Opal knows a lot about ice cream, but she and her mom don't bake. Actually Opal says her mom can set the toaster on fire if she's not watching Pop Tarts close enough." Robbi sat up a bit straighter, grinning ear to ear. "It was kinda nice being the one to know something. We had a nice talk-Aw, shoot."

"What?"

"I meant to ask what her last name was," Robbi frowned. "I mean I'm sure she has one, but I didn't ask?"

Regina thought for a minute. "Their last name? Uh...let me see, I used to have everyone memorized that came over in the first curse. Clarke, Pickerson, Dozier...oh, that's it, Leroy-"

"No don't tell me what it is!" Robbi squeaked, slapping her hands over her ears. "I want to ask Opal. I was gonna but then her brothers interrupted."

"Okay...can I ask why it's so important you ask, though?" That seemed a bit...odd. Even by the standards needed to understand Robbi.

"Well, see..." she searched for the words for a minute, before shrugging. "I dunno. It feels like I should ask her. If we're gonna be friends, I mean. Does that make sense?"

"If that's what you think you should do, then that's what you should do." It didn't make great sense, to Regina, but if Robbi was trying to make friends, then that was a good thing. "Now, what kind of sauce do you want on your spaghetti?"

* * *

There was still a lot to be done: File their own complaints, talk to the Charmings, wait to see the results of the investigation at the sheriff's station...but...the weather was making things difficult. It was shaping up to storm all night, but the power was holding strong. That was good.

What wasn't so good was that Rumpelstiltskin was absolutely exhausted. He'd fallen asleep in the bathtub, and it wasn't until Henry walked in, (backwards, with a hand over his eyes,) and said, "Grandpa? You've got to the count of three before I turn around and see if you slipped and fell, or drowned, or _whatever_ is taking so long. This is your last chance before I cannot unsee something and we'll never be able to look each other in the eye, okay? One! Two! Two and a half..."

Oh.

Oh no.

"Henry, wait, wait!" Panic of a different, more embarrassing kind set in, and the water in the tub sloshed around while he looked for something to cover himself with. "I'm okay! I just...fell asleep. What time is it?"

"It's like past four. If you're tired you should go to bed. C'mon, I'll help you upstairs..." he paused before he could turn around. "Just as soon as you put some pants on. I'll be outside."

Well. That was awkward.

Rumpelstiltskin managed to get out the tub without stumbling, goosebumps rising on his skin as he dried off. The hot water had turned unexpectedly cold. Brr. His leg was sore, but the worst of the pain was gone, so that was nice. But his head felt like it was full of molasses, making everything thick and slow, and despite his nap, he was drained. He wasn't sure if it was a side effect of the healing potion, one of his stupid mental illnesses, or just plain exhaustion. Either way: He was done for the rest of the day, that was for sure.

Henry gave him a hand with the stairs, but then Rumpelstiltskin just shuffled along until he was close enough to fall on the bed. Crawling under the blankets seemed to take the last of his strength, and he wasn't sure if he was even asleep before his eyes were shut, but the next time he woke up was when Oliver was poking him with something.

"Papa? Papa?"

"Mm...?" Rumpelstiltskin opened an eye, glancing at his son. He had a spoon, a bowl of soup in one hand, and another one on the bedside table. "What?"

"It's dinner time. We've got french onion soup, or tomato soup. Which one do you want?"

Honestly, he wasn't hungry. But Oliver was climbing on the bed, careful not to spill, and he didn't have the heart to deny his son. He chose the french onion soup. The heat of the bowl felt good in his hands, the salty broth sliding down his throat. They sat in silence for a few minutes, except for quiet slurps and the crunch of a saltine cracker by Oliver. Rumpelstiltskin wasn't going to be able to finish the bowl, he could tell, but he still held it, soaking up the warmth and pushing bits of onion around. These probably came from a can, but company was more important than the quality of the soup.

"Mama says she's seeing Archie Hopper Wednesday." Oliver said suddenly. "She says she's got some _stuff_ to work on."

Well. That was news.

"Did she apologize to you for yelling?" he asked then, sounding more curious than judgemental towards anyone. "She said she had an apology to make."

"Ah...yes..." Rumpelstiltskin spoke carefully. "We talked a bit."

Oliver was quiet again. "Papa? Would it be better if...if I just gave up this magic stuff? Everybody acts like it's a bad thing...what if it is?"

Setting the soup aside, (he definitely wasn't finishing that,) Rumpelstiltskin sighed, wrapping an arm around Oliver. His son pressed into his side, and suddenly he felt like the poor Frontlands spinner again. The wind was howling against the windows of his dark room, his leg was sore, he had a son that was asking difficult questions he wasn't sure how to answer, but wanted to try his best for the lad's sake.

Hopefully this time he wouldn't let his own issues ruin it.

"I suppose that depends on who your everybody is. The Charmings are...biased. They believe that the right thing is what they decide it is, and don't take other opinions into account. Captain Hook is an idiot, he doesn't get an opinion,-" Oliver snickered, and that made him smile, a little, "-so not counting that group, who acts like magic is bad?"

"Um...well...Mama...Mama's kinda...well she's...sh-she...she said she wasn't afraid of me, and she was more scared of what would happen to me than what I would do, or something like that-She said it was complicated, that's what I remember most. You and her were complicated."

"That's...true." Actually an understatement, really. "We are complicated."

"Will you tell me what happened?" Oliver asked hesitantly. "How did you go from being Beauty and the Beast to...now."

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, closing his eyes. "I have...I'm a difficult man to love. I didn't believe that your mother could love me, that we could have a happy ending together. Nothing's impossible if you believe it, but...when you _don't_ believe, it _is_ impossible. Your mother has her reasons not to trust me, maybe even hate me, quite a few on both accounts actually. She doesn't trust me to do the right thing...I've not been the best husband..."

"You're a good papa though." Oliver offered, fiddling with the spoon in his bowl.

"Maybe...but you're a good son though, you make it easy. If you..." Rumpelstiltskin thought for a moment, searching for the right words. "If you just remember that all magic comes with a price, and remember to stay honest to the people you love, then magic won't be a problem for you. Regina knows that. She'll help you prevent anymore accidents in the future, and that's all you have to learn for now. How to stay in control."

"Could...could you tell if I was a Dark One?"

"I can't promise you have light magic, but I can promise no one is born to be a Dark One."

"Evil isn't born, it's made?" Oliver guessed.

"Precisely so."

There was another long spell of quiet after that. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes grew heavy, Oliver leaned more against his side. He took the bowl from his son's hands before it tumbled across the blankets, set it aside, and Oliver gave a small yawn.

"Can I stay here?"

"Of course..."

"'kay...Papa?"

"Mm?"

"Mama doesn't hate you. She told me so."

Oh.

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure what to say to that, really. It was...it was _nice_ to know, he supposed. Something he'd had gnawing at the back of his mind for years now. He didn't know what to do with that secondhand information though. Maybe he'd just keep it to himself. Belle likely didn't tell Oliver that so he could tell his father. Maybe she'd just been trying to console him...

Oliver was asleep in a few more minutes, so Rumpelstiltskin couldn't fish for more information. It was probably for the best, anyway. He was exhausted too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tucks them in*
> 
> Leave your comments quietly, shhh. :3


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads-up: Hook isn't going to jail immediately. This is just an investigation to get him fired. The assault charges will be filed and then he's going to do some sitting in the station. Why am I telling you that? Ummm...

Neal had broken his wrist before. Broken bones hurt more than her remembered, but not as much as he was expecting. Huh. When they got home, Ruth had doodled some on his cast with Sharpies while saving room for his friends to sign, and Dr. Whale had warned not to get the cast wet or his arm wouldn't heal right. He didn't know why they had to put his whole arm in a cast if the only place broken was just a bit higher than his elbow, but it looked cooler once Ruth drew some little green dragons and knights on it.

And then Dad got home, and took Mom aside.

And then they told Neal to follow them, and they led him upstairs to his room and sat him on his bed. Neal complied, looking from his mother to his father, and he felt his stomach shrink. They were just standing over him, Mom looked like she was going to cry, but she was frowning hard. Dad's arms were crossed and his mouth was tight like he was swallowing something that wouldn't stay down.

And then he snapped: "You lied to us."

Oh hell.

"You lied to us." Dad said again, muscles flexing in his jaw. "You sat there, and lied to our faces, and we trusted you because you've never lied to us before. But you-I can't even trust that anymore because you just-You-What the fuck were you thinking?!"

Neal had never heard his father say "fuck" before, not unless it was muttered under his breath when he stepped on a Lego or mashed his fingers. It was shocking to even hear him snarl it, so much so that Neal was speechless.

"David," Mom put a hand on Dad's chest. "Calm down."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Dad snapped, swatting her hand away. "He's lied, he's left someone for dead, god knows what the hell he's going to do next-"

"David, calm down, this isn't going to get us anywhere."

Neal swallowed, watching his father carefully. Dad was the...the disciplinarian. He was the bad cop. Mom was the good cop, the reasonable one. She didn't yell or bark orders, she was calm and quiet and Neal didn't have to be worried about her. But Dad was furious. Neal actually couldn't remember his father ever looking this upset, and at the back of his mind, a little voice whispered that it was because Neal had never done something so _wrong_ before.

The blind panic over consequences had kept him from thinking too hard about what he'd done, but now he wondered how bad it would be if Gold had never gotten up from where he'd fallen over. He was going to be grounded for live. House arrest. Oh hell, what if they put him on trial? Could they do that?

Would they do that?

Mom looked to Neal. Her eyes were pink and watery. "Neal," she coaxed. "Just tell us...tell us what really happened. Don't make things worse, just give us the truth, why did you do it?"

"I-I-" Neal swallowed again, but his mouth was running dry. "I-I didn't mean to. We didn't mean to, I mean. M-me an' Tommy, s-see, we were just gonna play a trick on Oliver, n-n-nobody was s'posed to be hurt. It was an accident!"

"It was an accident because you hit the wrong person, you mean." Dad scowled, and Neal fought back a flinch. Oliver said that too, didn't he?

"Neal. Why did you want to snowball Oliver?"

Why? Because...because...because it was Oliver. He was a wise-ass, he was a shrimp that put on airs because he was smarter than them. He'd always known how to piss Neal off, just by opening his damned mouth, and he embarrassed Tommy on the playground, and turned Robbi Mills against him, and-and-They wouldn't have to deal with Oliver if he'd just mind his own damned business! It was always his fault!

But Neal couldn't say that. The words clogged up his throat, and he knew they would be the wrong things to say. That would make his dad angrier, it would make him look guiltier. Oliver was in trouble for breaking Neal's arm and having a magic blowup at school...Neal was in trouble for lying, leaving Mr. Gold unconscious, more lies, and he wasn't getting out of this. It was a nightmare.

He didn't know how long he was silent, but Dad lost his patience. "Answer your mother."

"I...I...I-It wasn't my idea," Neal said. That was true. Mostly. "Um, Friday Oliver made fun of Tommy on the playground. W-we weren't gonna hurt him, honest! We just...just wanted to play a trick on him, that's all. We didn't mean to hurt anybody! Then Tommy's snowball hit Mr. Gold, and he fell, and w-we got sc-scared, an' ran."

Mom looked thoughtful for a minute; But Dad's face turned red.

"That's not good enough."

"David-"

"No! That's not good enough! Listen to him, Snow, he's pointing all the blame on Tommy Herman, but unless that boy put the snowball in your hand and made you toss it, you're _both_ guilty in my eyes. We gave you a goddamned chance to come clean-"

"And you shouted at me!" Neal blurted out. And immediately hoped it was his ears playing tricks on him. He didn't mean to say anything, but it was true. He'd just get in trouble for confessing, so he'd held it off for as long as he-

"Neal, sweetheart," Mom said. "We were upset because we were worried about what you'd done. We didn't know if you'd hurt yourself, or had hurt someone else, or what had happened. If you'd told us the truth earlier the consequences wouldn't been as big as they are now. You wouldn't be sitting here with a broken arm if you'd come clean."

Neal frowned, glaring down at his feet. It wasn't fair. He didn't hurt Oliver, that little freak of nature didn't have to blow him through the door into the lockers. He didn't have to be a smartass to Tommy. It was his fault, he'd blown up at school, and he should be the one getting a dressing-down and being grounded for a lifetime, not Neal. Now his mom was saying it was his fault, too, and this whole day had gotten-

"Look at me." Dad ordered, and Neal hesitantly raised his eyes. The knot in his throat made it feel as if he were going to cry, his eyes were hot and his tongue felt swollen.

And Dad looked pissed. His voice was low and scarily flat, like he was so mad he couldn't express it anymore.

"As soon as the weather is cleared up, there's going to be a meeting with the principal. You, Tommy, and Phil are going to be there. You _will_ tell us what happened, you _will_ tell the truth, and then you _will_ face the consequences of your actions. You will be eleven years old this month, that's more than old enough to be responsible for your own actions. Especially when you tried to bully another boy into keeping quiet."

"I wasn't gonna hurt Phil," Neal protested feebly. Phil was a best friend. Best friends didn't rat on each other. Neal kept it secret that Phil had broke a vase at the Herman house-

"I wasn't talking about _Phil_."

Oh...Oliver...

That his father was going to ignore how much of this was Oliver's fault made Neal mad. It was his fault, damn it! If Oliver had kept his trap shut, everything would've gone back to normal, and nobody would've had to get hurt.

"Why are you punishing me?" Neal demanded, trying to match his father's glare unsuccessfully. "Oliver broke my arm, I didn't hurt him! He oughta be in jail!"

"You don't get to play that card! You left his father for dead!"

"Neal! David!" Mom snapped suddenly, wedging herself between them. "That's enough! There's a lot of issues right now, and Oliver isn't not in trouble, Neal-"

"Oh no, if anybody here has to be punished, it's the boys that knocked a crippled man down the stairs for fun-"

"It wasn't for fun! We were getting b-It was a trick! Just a trick!"

"I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!" Mom shouted, and Dad and Neal both shut up.

Mom swallowed, looking back and forth between them before taking a deep breath. She looked at Dad with something in her eyes that made Dad scowl and look away...and then she looked at Neal with watery, disappointed green eyes and a pinched mouth.

"I am very disappointed in you, Neal. I-I can't even talk about this right now. You-You-You lied to us, and we trusted you! I was so proud an-and now I-I can't even speak to you about this right now, we will talk later. David."

It was only when Mom spun around and swept out the room that Neal realized how much trouble he was in. Especially when Dad's eyebrows raised up as they watched her go, and he turned to him and said flatly, "You've screwed up, son." And then he left to, the door shutting behind him with a grim thud.

You've screwed up, son.

Yeah. Neal was starting to get that...

It still wasn't fair though.

* * *

David had been through a lot with Snow...but he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her this upset.

He was mad, true. So mad that he'd started getting mad at Snow telling him to calm down. He'd been sure she was going to tell him not to yell at Neal, but that wasn't exactly what happened. She'd just been too upset to talk at that moment...and David could understand. But he wasn't willing to let the matter drop, either.

They'd stayed in their room for a bit, trying to just figure out what to do. Snow didn't much care that Hook was under fire. That was really the story of their relationship with their son-in-law: They didn't much care about him, so long as Emma was okay. And later, so long as Cleo was okay. If anything though...the news that Killian hit a child, no matter how you felt about Oliver Gold, was kind of...kind of a red flag. Not good to hear. Snow was so upset about Neal that David was trying to distract her by getting her up to speed, and she'd listened while sitting on the bed hugging a pillow with a mostly blank face, like she was just trying to process everything at once.

"I don't want him around Neal anymore."

Now that was a bit of an unexpected conclusion...but not one David disagreed with. At all.

"David, what-What did we do that made Neal think that...that _this_ , was okay? I-It's not okay, and it's terrible, but Ruth doesn't act that way. I-is it the friends he has? Did we do so something different to him? Maybe Aurora had the right idea keeping her kids away from Killian, but Cleo doesn't act like-Like-Like she can hurt people! It's insane!"

"Well...Killian isn't very close with Cleo, either." David sighed, perching on the bed beside her. "Something's got to change."

"I don't understand, nothing was like this before," Snow shook her head, squeezing her pillow tighter. "I don't remember it ever being this bad before, I-I know Neal and Oliver don't get along, I do, but Neal's never gone out his way to attack him before. I-I thought...I thought things were getting better. And then...we let Neal and Tommy go to the Jolly Roger Friday...is that it? The bad influence is Killian? Or-"

David wrapped his arm around his distraught wife, kissing the top of her head. "There's a lot of things it could be. Maybe it's even a lot of things we've done. But Snow, it's not too late to fix it. Getting some distance between him and Killian would be as good a start as any. I don't want him around our kids anymore than he has to be either. You should have seen him at the station, it was-It was like he couldn't see past his hate for Gold, it was terrible. I can't trust him to be a deputy anymore, no matter what Emma says."

Snow nodded slowly. " _God_...god David, what about Emma? What's she going to do?"

"She'll...she'll probably try to change my mind, change Regina's. But I can't do this anymore. We can't have a man on the police force that lets his hate consume him to the point where all he wants is to drag the body back, that's not good for anyone. Getting him to quite drinking on the job was hard enough, and I'm still not convinced he's sober."

"Probably not...maybe...maybe this will put some things into perspective for him?" Snow began, hope creeping into her voice. "Archie's been after Emma for years, maybe some counselling would do him some good. Just-Something has to change, you're right. You're right. I don't know what all has to happen yet, but something does. Getting the police department reorganized is a good start, you're right. Then we have to work on Neal's...issues. Maybe we'll see if Archie has some time for him?"

"That sounds like a good plan." David agreed, a bit of a proud smile tugging at his lips. "He owes an apology to Gold and Oliver though."

"I...yes, yes he does."

"I don't trust him."

Snow looked like she was going to argue that point, but then her mouth closed again and she nodded slowly. David kissed her temple, trying to soften the blow. Or ease the cracks in her heart.

"He's our son Snow, we'll _never_ stop loving him," he reminded her. "But he lied about where he was Saturday, and lied about what happened in that bathroom at school. How do we know he hasn't lied to us before and we haven't bothered to check him? How can we be sure he won't lie again because he's so sure he'll get away with it? I know he's a good kid, deep down. But right now I wouldn't trust him not to be sitting there in his room thinking we're the ones being unfair because he got caught out in the end."

After a long span of silence, Snow pressed her face into his shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh.

"You're right. I know. I can't stand it either."

"That I'm right, or that we can't trust him?"

A weak, shaky laugh met his ears. "Bit of both. For different reasons. What...what should we do now?"

After a bit more talking, they decided on a suitable short-term punishment for Neal. Hornsby was calling for an investigation of his own when the weather cleared up, probably not until Wednesday, and they'd save the harshest sentencing for that time. (Especially since David didn't think Jefferson was joking at all when he was inquiring about assault charges and Gold considering them...) For now, the original punishment was being grounded for the rest of the week. He'd go nowhere, there would be no TV or video games, and if this were the Enchanted Forest David would be mightily tempted to find an old-fashioned woodshed, but he'd never raised a hand to his kids before and he wasn't going to start now.

Plus, the pictures Henry sent him of the ugly mark on Oliver's cheek and the handprint bruising his shoulder turned his stomach.

Neal stayed in his room for the rest of the night. And when the power went out unexpectedly in the middle of said night, he curled up in a sulky ball on the sofa when they gathered everyone downstairs in the living room around the fireplace so no one would freeze. In the morning, the power was still out, but David got dressed and ready to go. He had a pirate to expunge from the sheriff's station, and Regina mentioned that she'd come around to poof David to the station and they'd have the D.A., Ulysses Homer, be their impartial investigator.

Maybe a district attorney wasn't the right person for this job outside of Storybrooke, but in Storybrooke no one could really complain about that. Mr. Homer had arrive in Storybrooke from the Land of Untold Stories, to the delight of his wife Penelope who'd been waiting on him nearly twenty years even without the original curse adding almost three decades on to that time, and while Odysseus was a legendary Greek mythological character, (Snow knew Hercules, so David figured, 'Why not?') he had absolutely no connections to David and Snow, not to Hook, or Regina, not even Rumpelstiltskin had interfered with the man's life or vice versa. He was a totally independant representative of the townsfolk that had the clout, (and intelligence,) to deign Hook an incompetent officer or not.

David was really leaning towards the "incompetent," end of that spectrum.

* * *

Breakfast was a bit of bread and jam, which suited Belle fine because her stomach was still twisted in knots from a nightmare.

In it, she'd been back in the snow-covered woods, watching Hook in his full black leather pirate regalia, pointing a gun at Rumple and Oliver. She'd screamed and run to stop it but she never got any closer, they gave no indication of hearing her, and she wasn't allowed to go forwards until one shot rang out and both bodies fell to the ground, the snow stained scarlet all around them and spreading out. It wasn't quite how a gunshot would have worked in reality, but that didn't make it any less frightening. Belle had fallen off the sofa, tangled in the blanket someone left draped over her, and gasped in air so cold she could see the cloud of her exhales.

The power had gone out, but Belle knew the house well enough that she'd run to the bathroom and dry-heaved in the sink. There was a little emergency light plugged into a receptacle in the bathroom that Belle used as a flashlight then, until she found a real one and put it back, then stoked the dying fire back to life so she wouldn't freeze her toes off. The task gave her something to ease her mind, but she didn't sleep much for the rest of the night.

And the cold had driven down the others, until they were all bundled up in the living room, Henry and Violet curled up in the reclining armchair, Oliver curled up on the floor in front of the fire not too far from the other armchair Rumple had fallen into, and Belle still on the sofa. She had fallen into a dazed doze now and then, but by the time three clocks in different rooms of the house all chimed it was seven in the morning, Belle had gotten up and puttered around for something to do.

She was joined in the kitchen about an hour later by Oliver, who was hungry. Belle cut thick slices of white bread off a loaf and found some strawberry jam that Anton sold on various occassions, and a jar of apple butter that was probably Henry's, and she and Oliver ate that for breakfast with a cold glass of milk that tasted good even if the _cold_ part wasn't so pleasant.

In the Dark Castle, the kitchen had been the toastiest room until Belle had gotten that library "to clean," but here in Storybrooke the ovens didn't need to burn around the clock and it was quite chilly. Fireplaces tended to suck the heat out of other rooms, Belle found, and her apartment didn't have one. She had a space heater to supplement the old-fashioned radiator that would dry out shoes and scarves faster than anything, but in case of power outages in winter, Belle always went over to Granny's Diner right across the street. Sometimes she came over to Rumple's, of course, but thinking about that right now brought her nightmare to mind, and Belle was so glad when Violet padded in to snag herself some bread and jam.

Henry was the last one in, his hair sticking up and unable to string a sentence together until he'd eaten one slice of bread, and was well through his second piece. By unspoken agreement, they'd saved some of the loaf for Rumple...only he never came in.

Belle was really unsurprised to find that Rumple was still sleeping like the dead in the recliner, the legs kicked up and just the tips of his stocking feet sticking out of the blanket he'd bundled up in. He'd had a long day yesterday, a bit more physical activity than he was used to these days even, so of course he was tired.

Only he didn't get up, or make like he'd woken up at all until nearly eleven o'clock when Henry seemed to make a decision and carefully poked his grandfather though his blankets until he jolted.

"Sorry, sorry, just me," Henry said by way of explanation, holding up his hands. Belle was sitting on the couch and trying not to stare, pretending to read her book, but she'd been mistaken if she thought this familiar classic would hold her attention when Rumpelstiltskin was less than ten feet away. "C'mon, you need to get up and eat something."

"'m no' hungry..." came the hoarse, thickly accented reply. "'m tired..."

Belle usually found it fascinating how sometimes Rumpelstiltskin could drop R's altogether, and othertimes stress them until they trilled on the tip of his tongue. She distinctly heard the R sound in "hungry" but missed it in "tired," so that it sounded more like "ty-yah'd" instead. At the moment, though, her fascination with his voice was overrun by a growing concern. Her research into depression had pointed out how it could zap you of your strength to the point where you couldn't get out of bed, couldn't do anything. She was desperately hoping that it was just tiredness and not a downwards spiral, and she thought Henry was in the same boat.

"I'll bet, but could you just could you just drink something before you go back to sleep, okay?"

"Henry. I swear to the gods, if you say 'hydration is important', I will beat you over the head with my cane."

Henry gave a slight smile, that was more than a little relieved. "Well Archie wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, he's a conscience after all. How you feel about juice?"

"Not apple."

"Deal."

" _Ugh_..."

Belle found it a little easier to breathe once Rumple shifted into a technically upright position and groggily downed three quarters of the lemonade Henry presented him with. It wasn't exceedingly nutrious by a doctor's standpoint, maybe, but it had sugar and water in it, and it was something. Something had to count for, well, _something_.

With the curtains open, there was weak light streaming in, enough to read by without straining her eyes and enough for Oliver to start knitting something in a pretty shade of blue. He perched himself by Belle on the couch and stopped knitting long enough to talk to his father for a bit about how Snow had made him show the class his scarf yesterday, how Alyssa Stilton and her enthusiasm for needlework had drawn the teacher's attention, and how his friends might want to learn how to knit and that Robbi was supposed to give Garrick a pair of knitting needles for his birthday next Sunday.

Oliver did most of the talking, but Rumple had listened. He looked at Oliver while their son was talking, indicating he really was listening even if he didn't say much.

Henry's cellphone ringing brought him out the room, and Violet oblidgingly took the empty lemonade glass back to the kitchen, (they were trying not to open the fridge too much, but there was really only so much to drink that wasn't literal ice water,) so for a moment it was just the three of them. Belle, Rumple, and Oliver.

Maybe someday they could sit like this without it being awkward as hell or necessitated by emergency, Belle privately wished, holding in a sigh as Rumple's eyes started to close and he drifted back to sleep again...

* * *

Cellphones were still operational even though the power was out. That was good because it meant Regina could call Tink in the morning and say she was dropping Robbi off for a few hours while they cleaned out the sheriff's station. And bad because it meant that she didn't have an excuse not to call Emma and ask if she and the pirate would be coming or not.

Choosing to focus on the first, primarily, Regina gave Tink a polite heads up. She had volunteered yesterday to mind Robbi, mostly just in case the power went out. Regina felt she could trust Robbi at home by herself, and Robbi was getting independent enough that she didn't need as strict a structure as she used to. But the power was out, and it would just be a bit safer for Robbi to be with people. And she could hang out with Garrick for a bit, so, there were some socializing benefits.

Regina poofed her and Robbi, carrying her backpack, into the foyer, as if they'd walked right through the door. Tink poked her head around the corner and smiled. "Hey, that was fast. Come on in Robbi, Garrick's by the fireplace with his grandfather. Wanna learn how to cook with fire?"

"Really?" Robbi sounded just a touch too excited by that, and Regina almost reconsidered her "safer for Robbi to be with people" position. Almost. Tink was living the survivalist life on Neverland for ages, and Gepetto had cooked without a "modern" kitchen longer than Regina had been alive, so it was improbable they'd burn the house down around their ears. She sent Robbi off with a pat to her backpack and got a chirped _"good luck Aunt Regina!"_ as she went.

Tink gave her a thumbs up. "Knock his arse out."

With those ringing endorsements, Regina left to pick up D.A. Ulysses Homer. It was a quarter to ten but the wind was still strong and bitingly cold, a few odd snowflakes still drifting down to add to the mess blanketing the ground. She shivered on the front porch, her thick coat providing just enough protection for her to despise the thought of going without it, and rang the doorbell. Homer came out promptly with a brown paper lunch bag and a thermos, (smart man,) and when Regina dropped him off at the station to get started, she went over to the Nolan house, poofing right inside the foyer. She knocked on the door to simulate a polite entrance, and heard small feet hit the ground running until little Leo tackled her legs.

"Gina! Gina!"

"Hello Leo, how are you?"

"Col'! No power." he added, solemnly, tugging her hand along to drag her further into the house. "Wanna see my cars?"

Snow came out and scooped Leo up, kissing his fluffy pale blonde head. "Sorry sweetie, but Regina and Daddy have business down at the sheriff's station to take care of, she's gotta go."

Leo stuck his lip out, but didn't throw a tantrum. He just squirmed to be put down and once his socked feet touched the ground, he looked up at Regina and said with his chubby little hands on his hips: "You come home later and see my cars."

He looked so much like Snow trying her best to be stern that Regina started to laugh. "Maybe. We'll see."

Satisfied, Leo trotted off, almost bumping into David, who ruffled his youngest child's hair in passing as he tucked his phone inside his coat pocket.

"Hey. I called Emma, she said she was leaving Cleo at Granny's, and she'd be down to the station as soon as she could."

Good. Regina didn't...well she liked Emma, she did, they fought like mortal enemies that they probably were when she first arrived in Storybrooke, but they were probably best friends now. Even if Emma had shit taste in husbands. It hurt to see her lowering her standards just for Killian Jones because he couldn't be bothered to raise his, and Regina hated how Emma got all desperate when things got tough in that marriage.

The biggest fight they'd had, maybe even _including_ that rocky period when they were trying to co-parent Henry together, was when Regina demanded Emma go through with the separation she'd talked about earlier in the week the day she announced she was pregnant with Cleo. She was something like two months, almost three, along in her pregnancy, so Regina couldn't say Hook knocked her up on purpose, but damn if it didn't feel like it. Hook was unbearably smug whenever Regina happened to cross paths with him while she and Emma were on the outs, until she showed up on Emma's doorstep with peanut butter swirl ice cream almost a month later and offered as close to apology as she could muster.

Emma accepted, but there was always a rum-swigging elephant in the room after that. She didn't always tell Regina everything anymore, and she lost a lot of intel after Henry left home(s), but you could just _tell_ that Emma was miserable. Anyone that knew her could see it...just not Emma herself.

She and David transported over to the station, finding Homer had already booted up the computer and was poking through the e-files. David and Emma were a little lax on paperwork, once about every three months, usually on the first day of a new season, they sat down and tried to catch up on everything that needed to be uploaded or tossed out or whatever. Usually that irritated Regina, who's offices had always run efficiently, but today she just hoped they'd stuffed them in the right folders so they could find the proper evidence easily.

Homer was a fairly handsome man in his mid-fifties, a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and neatly combed gray-streaked hair matched by an olive-toned complexion and weathered lines around his gray eyes. Regina was a little blurry on the Greek mythology Henry had been interested in for a stint during childhood, but she knew that he'd (being Odysseus or _The Odyssey_ ,) been something every girl wanted a piece of on whatever shore his quest home to his ( _faithful_ and _patiently waiting_ ,) wife took him. He had some serious brainpower behind his looks though, and the sort of upstanding record that meant his word would be largely accepted as the gospel truth by Storybrooke.

Even though the investigation had started a tad early, Regina was still surprised that Emma and Hook weren't here soon after eleven. In fact, it was thirty minutes past when Homer closed whatever file he'd been looking at, drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and requested whatever paper files David had on hand.

David had gone digging for the folders already, and presented them promptly, but whatever Homer saw there didn't seem to lift that oddly pensive look from his face. Neither did the next folder.

Regina was starting to get a bad feeling when the locked door rattled and Emma and Hook came in. Emma looked breathless and was fumbling to stuff her keys in her coat pocket while stripping out of it at the same time, Hook's eyes were hangover-red and he flopped down on a chair with a slight groan. The stubble on his face was thicker than he usually kept it, his hair barely neat, and Regina was willing to bet those were the same clothes he'd worn yesterday if David's distasteful look was an indicator.

It wasn't a good impression to be making even as Emma babbled, "I'm so sorry, there snow started coming down again and not all the roads were clear, we had a hard time just walking straight on the sidewalk."

"I can imagine," Regina muttered under her breath. She'd said it once, twice, and thought it a thousand times more: Emma was too good for that pirate.

"Good afternoon Deputies Jones," Homer greeted placidly, managing to close the paper folder with an ominous flap. "Thank you for coming despite your difficulties. Now that you're here, would you be so kind as to pull up some documents for me on your system here?"

"What documents?" Hook blinked, squinting in even the faint, watery light coming in through the frosted windows.

"For a start, I was present for a certain fight in Aesop's Tables in which you destroyed six pieces of stemware, a chair, and knocked over a table. I remember you and the other patron were charged with disturbing the peace and public intoxication, but I can't quite find that on your records. For another thing, I can't find the last time you were suspended, about six or seven months ago when you provoked Anton Villaverde into an altercation."

David frowned, going over to look at the computer despite Mr. Homer asking Hook or Emma to do it. "That's impossible, I filed both those charges myself, and I uploaded them, too."

Something unpleasant began curling in Regina's gut as Emma darted over, so very eager to help now. "Maybe there's a problem. Doesn't this computer crash if you look at it wrong?"

"Yeah, but it didn't crash when I uploaded it, _and_ I used the other computer," David frowned, pecking at the keys while Emma hovered over his shoulder.

Ulysses Homer was just standing an arm's length away, watching them. He looked down to the paper folder in his hands, opening it and glancing back and forth between whatever was written there, at Hook who was rubbing his temples, and at David and Emma. He raised his eyes after an increasingly tense minute to meet Regina's gaze, his gray eyes deep and grave but giving nothing away. In her Evil Queen days, Regina probably would've crushed his heart for looking at her like that and called it insolence, but right now she just wanted to know if this wriggling doubt was wrong. It had to be wrong. Please, god, let it be wrong.

"Also," Homer said, smooth as glass, "I was told that there were three complaints filed yesterday, Sheriff. Where are they?"

David looked at the folders left on the desk, frowned deeper still, and went over to a filing cabinet. Regina focused on him rustling around, and tried to ignore how it didn't look like Emma was trying to do anything to the "glitchy" computer at all.

It wasn't long at all before David closed the drawer. For a moment, he just stood there with his hand on the silver handle. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and then David spun on his heel and rushed for the back rooms where they kept the armory, evidence lockers, and bathrooms. And Regina didn't think David suddenly had to go for a restroom break...

So she went after him.

She made it into the back, dimly aware of Homer following behind her, just in time to see David slam a locker shut. His face was pale and he drew in a deep breath, hand shaking on the door. He must've had the same thoughts as Regina: No, no, no, no, no.

David turned to the armory and pointed to an empty space where a pistol ought to be. Okay, okay that was good though, a gun was missing-

"I wrote in my report, that two guns were missing." David said, his voice sounding oddly thin and thick all at once. Wait. Two? "I bagged the pistol he'd used yesterday and put it in the evidence locker. One is still missing, and I did _not_ put this one back. He fired one shot, I can test it for residue."

Homer nodded slightly, but Regina couldn't move. She might've been going into shock now, actually. Even though the power was out, she felt a wave of cold work itself from the inside out.

The next thing she knew, Homer was leading them out the room. Hook was still sitting there, and he only seemed to just realize what was going on. Or perhaps more accurately, what should have been going on, because he looked around with glassy eyes and muttered, "When's this inspection s'posed to start?"

"I believe I have all the evidence I need, save one detail, Mr. Jones." Homer said crisply, then glanced regretfully at David for just a moment. "What time were you last in the sheriff's station?"

"What time? Fuck...uh...before three, I think? Definitely before four, something like that. Why?"

"Because there are three people with access to the keys to this building. Five counting Mayor Mills and Snow White, through her husband, but as Mayor Mills organized this investigation, and I doubt either Nolan returned here, that really just left two people, coincidentally, the two people with the biggest motive to tamper with evidence. And since you're obviously more drunk than a satyr after a Dionysia, that really only leaves one person."

All eyes turned to Emma, and Regina's heart sank like a stone at her friend's pinched, pale face and wide guilty eyes.

"It's my serious recommendation that Mr. Jones be fired, and your remaining deputy be put on suspension, if not fired herself," Homer spoke dispassionately, his face displaying nothing but disappointment.

And he wasn't alone in that...not by a longshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind a pillow fort*
> 
> Okay, comments are below, if any of you have been saving slaps for Emma's wretched behavior even if she's showing signs of mental/emotional abuse, this is the chapter you can use them on and won't be blamed. Or just double-up on the Hook-bashing, that's fine too, he's still going to on trial.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter feels weird, (because it just does to _me_ , I don't know why,) it's probably because it jumps from perspective to perspective so much. And if you want to shake Emma some more...give it a shot, but I can't say she's ready to help herself yet...

Her father had taken their keys to the station and left. Before he was gone, he'd looked at Emma like he had been utterly betrayed...and...he probably had. Regina had given her the same look, but it came with a slow shake of the head and thinned lips. And a coldly snapped, _"We'll talk later, Mrs. Jones. Pack your pirate and get out."_

Killian didn't have much in the way of personal effects at the station, just a popsicle stick picture frame Cleo had made and two magazines. And a spare jacket. They were out the door quickly, Emma dragging her husband out by the arm before he could launch into the argument it looked like he wanted to have with Regina and Homer.

It was an unhappy ride from the sheriff's station, and Emma made the silent decision to leave Cleo at Granny's for just a little while longer while they got settled at home. When they got there, he got out the car and slammed the door shut, and stormed into the house. Emma got his box out the backseat, aware she was stalling a little, before shuffling up the snowy walk to the porch.

She stamped off her boots and fumbled with the mechanics of opening the door while holding the handles of the cardboard box, and when she finally got inside, she found Killian had taken his rum bottle off the counter and flopped in a kitchen chair, drinking straight from the bottle without bothering with a glass. That wasn't a good sign...

She set the box down by the door and went into the kitchen. She picked up one glass, then after a moment's hesitation, picked up another too. She filled that one with water for herself, and set the empty glass in front of her husband.

Instead he chose to scowl at it, slamming the heavy bottle down on the table. He licked the rum off his lips, and the gesture was sometimes one he teased Emma with, but this was purely reactional. A reaction to the rum being on his uper lip. A reaction to thinking about the words he was going to use next, biding his time until they were just right on the tip of his tongue, primed to use. Hangovers weren't conducive to quick thinking, after all.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Emma looked down into her water glass. Not all the glasses matched anymore. Between accidents at the hands of Killian and Cleo over the past decade or so, the twelve piece glassware set she'd gotten as a wedding present had dwindled down to just this glass and the one she'd coincidentally gotten out for Killian. Emma had liked them a lot, the rim was round and smooth but there were eight sides under the lip, and a thick bottom that made them feel solid. Whenever they broke, it was always the thinner glass of the sides that shattered. The bottom rarely ever cracked. It seemed poetic but Emma had too much on her mind to think of why, per se.

"What. _The hell_. Were you thinking?" Killian repeated, and Emma couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. "How could you be so bloody stupid? Were you trying to get me sacked on purpose?"

"No," she shook her head quickly. "No. No, I just-"

" _No, no, no;_ Stop that." he hissed. "Because that's what happened! Why do you always have to meddle in my affairs, I can take care of myself! D'you have any idea how humiliating it is, to have everyone know that _my wife_ had to stick her nose where it didn't belong? You made it look worse than it was!"

"I know, I-I know, I'm so sorry, I just-"

"That's not good enough!" Killian snapped, jumping to his feet so quickly his feet that his chair clattered to the floor. "My reputation is in tatters,-just how your father and Regina wanted it,-and now what the fuck are we supposed to do for the next month while you're suspended and I've got no job?"

Emma hadn't thought about that. She did a quick mental tally of what was in their bank account the last time she'd checked. They'd be okay, she thought, if they were careful. Things could get a little bit tight between the last week and her next check, but it wouldn't be hand-to-mouth, exactly. "We'll be okay," she tried to reassure, but she didn't _sound_ as sure as she wanted with her voice shaking the way it was. "It might get a little tight but-"

"Did you forget about your own daughter? How could you be so stupid as to destroy our livelihood when she's dependant on us? What if your dad decides not to hire you back at all now that you've tampered with official records? _Goddammit Emma_!"

Killian seized the empty glass she'd put in front of him and flung it to the ground with a crash that had her heart leaping into her throat.

Feeling like she'd floated out of her body, Emma looked down at the splintered fragments spread across the kitchen floor. The bottom was mostly intact. Just like usual. She still didn't know why that still seemed so important.

"Everything would have been fine if you hadn't meddled!" Killian snapped, snatching up his bottle of rum and stomping out the room. "This is _your_ fault, the worst that could've happened to me was suspension and now you've gone and fucked it all up! Before the rumors start flying around, I'm going down to the docks. Maybe I can pick up some work there before it's too late. Don't bother waiting up, I can't even look at you right now, I don't want to fight with Cleo watching."

Emma nodded mutely, still staring down at the broken glass. Even as the front door slammed shut. She had the bug's keys in her pocket, but Killian had never managed the trick of driving anyway. And she couldn't exactly offer him a ride down to the docks now, regardless of the weather outside.

The worst part was that he was right. She'd ruined everything.

She hadn't _meant_ to, though. She just...well it was just that, _if_ the only dark spots on Killian's police record were his suspensions and the three complaints filed against him yesterday, what real evidence did they have otherwise that he was an unfit officer? She'd thought it would just be Regina and David going over the results to make a judgement. She didn't know they were getting the D.A. in on it. Homer was scary smart, he was like a friendly version of the Mr. Gold that had been striding around town when Emma first got here. It was creepy. And maybe her cover-job had been sloppy, but...god...what the hell had she been thinking?

No, she knew what she was thinking: _I can fix this._

Her father, she knew, had gotten less and less approving of Killian as the years wore on, and there was only so much wheedling and promising Emma could do before that lost effect, too. Killian had cleaned up his job performance, really he had. And, as Emma always had to point out, neither she nor David had official training either.

But that wasn't enough anymore. Words weren't enough. No, when it came down to it, Emma knew what she was thinking, she just didn't know _why_ she was thinking it. Why she did what she did. The odds of it working on David, who had filed most of those reports, and Regina, who had a long memory when it came to grudges and annoyances, were _maybe_ twenty percent. Maybe she'd hoped the lack of evidence would work in their favor, but Mr. Homer had used it against them.

It would be impressive if it weren't so devastating.

Emma slowly got up and started cleaning up the broken glass. She only had one from her wedding set left. Maybe she should tuck it aside where it wouldn't be used anymore. It was an irrational thought, but it wouldn't leave her head. It was like that chipped cup thing Gold had clung to so tightly because it had been Belle's...or something like that. She'd never asked.

Hmm.

For just a moment, Emma allowed herself to envy Belle's nerve to walk away from her husband and all his demons. Then she reminded herself that Belle was never able to _stay_ away, or even able to stand by Gold either. But no matter how things turned with Killian, they were True Love. They had proof in the Underworld. They _were,_ and True Love wasn't meant to be easy, it had to be fought for.

This mess was Emma's fault, today. She'd just have to try not to be so... _stupid_ , so panicky and irrational, next time. They would be okay until next month, and Emma would just have to earn back her husband's trust one step at a time. And her father's.

But if it was true that Neal and Tommy Herman had hit Gold with snowballs and sent him down the steps Saturday, then Prince Charming and Snow White had their hands too full with their second-born for her to deal with her right now...maybe she would wait a bit before approaching them. She had a lot of messes to clean up...this glass was just the start.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin woke up when a light unexpectedly flashed on. At first he thought it was lightning, but when he opened his eyes, (and sat upright so fast he almost pitched himself out the armchair,) he found it was just the power cutting back on. He was definitely still exhausted, but thought that maybe, just maybe, it was physical tiredness more than depression. For one thing he was hungry. Not ravenous, but definitely peckish. That rarely happened during a bad downswing.

For another, he wanted to brush his teeth. And shave. Especially shave. He hadn't shaved since Saturday morning and the stubble was starting to irritate him. On a downswing he felt too worthless to fret about his hygiene.

He hobbled upstairs to give himself a shave and brush his teeth, then threw on a deep purple shirt and black slacks and his slippers. On a whim, he put on a waistcoat too. Layers made him feel secure. Undershirt, shirt, waistcoat. Three layers between his bare skin and the outside world. Maybe it was one of those psychosomatic blah-blah-blah's Archie talked about now and then. Speaking of the cricket...

When he came back downstairs, he found Belle pacing in the foyer with Henry's cellphone. When she was restless on the phone, she paced. Rumpelstiltskin had stopped to watch her for a moment or two, fully intending to carry on, but then he heard her say, "...should I reschedule?"

There was a pause, on the phone and for Rumpelstiltskin.

"Are you sure? I mean this seems..." Belle paused again. "You're right, right. So. How are you and Figaro?"

Ah. Archie, then. Rumpelstiltskin made his way down, half-listening to Belle's comments until she suddenly called his name. He turned to find her holding out the phone, her hand over the speaker as if muffling their exchange.

"It's Archie," she whispered. "Do you want to talk to him?"

It was on the tip of Rumpelstiltskin's tongue to say no. He was okay. But...well...it might prevent a future disaster if he had a short exchange with the cricket now. It sounded like he was about to be very busy. So, he accepted the phone from Belle's hand and said, "Dr. Hopper?"

_"Mr. Gold? Oh. Good afternoon, how are you? I hear you had a very...trying day, yesterday. How are you holding up?"_

"I feel...tired." Gold replied, leaning against the wall. "I did more walking than I have in a while though, and I don't feel like I'm on a downswing exactly. Just...tired."

 _"Ah."_ Rumpelstiltskin could hear him nodding on the other end of the line. _"That sounds about right. Can I ask how you were, uh, able to walk? On your foot?"_

"I...have some potions, I took one. A healing potion. I just...I just had to be out there, I had to find my son." It still didn't feel like an excuse...it was the truth, that was all he wanted to do. "I didn't think about much else other than finding him and bringing him home, safe."

_"That's what Tink told me. She also mentioned some...problems, with Captain Hook? Belle said Oliver seems to be okay, but I'll talk to him Wednesday. Do you want to talk about that at all?"_

"I was terrified." Rumpelstiltskin answered automatically. And it was true. Very true. "If the bastard hasn't been fired I will find a way to remove him from any position of authority higher than the ground."

 _"I agree wholeheartedly with that."_ Well thank _god_. _"Which reminds me. Snow called to arrange for a therapy session for Neal. I had to talk her out of tomorrow afternoon, because I have Oliver scheduled for that day and I really don't want to agitate the situation anymore. I'd recommend steering clear from my office on Thursday afternoon as much as you can. Are you sure there's nothing you need to go in to? Tink seemed to think you were...on edge? Upset?"_

Part of Rumpelstiltskin was impressed Tinker Bell had noticed he was unraveling faster than he could keep it together yesterday. Another part wished she'd mind her own bloody business.

"Yes...there were...there was...I had..." he took a moment to breathe. Just thinking about what the pirate said, taunting or not, made his stomach turn. "Hook was...making threats, in the woods. With a gun in his hand. He said he would lock Oliver and I in the asylum. He taunted that he would lock us in with...with Zelena. Or just one of us. Oliver. I coul-I couldn't move. I panicked and just froze. Tink saved us in the end but...it was...it was unsettling. I would like to think he was just toying with me, but...fear is not rational. And neither is he."

 _"Belle said you were going to make a statement later, once the roads cleared?"_ Archie asked, and there was a faint bark on his end of the line that was probably Figaro, who was promptly shushed. _"Is there any other legal actions your considering?"_

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure how well assault charges would stick to Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman, but damn if he wouldn't push for something. There was no juvie facility in Storybrooke, but several people had worked with the Lost Boys to tame them into something resembling respectable citizens. Just over half of them had gone back to the Enchanted Forest when the opportunity arose after the Underworld misadventures ended, but the ones remaining seemed to have recovered nicely. Three were studying to be medical professionals right now.

It all depended on how willing the two little rat bastards were to change...but Rumpelstiltskin was going to try to push for it.

"I might. I have to think about it some, how to go about it. And now, if you'll excuse me Dr. Hopper, I'm a bit hungry, so I must be going."

 _"Oh!"_ And damn if that cricket didn't sound so cheerful about that. _"Well don't let me keep you. And don't hesitate to call me again if you need me. At least_ you've _been scheduled in advance."_

There was a world of annoyance in Hopper's tone. Even a saint only had so much patience, Gold supposed, ending the call. It was _natural_ for the Charmings to bulldoze over someone's existing plans because they needed something...it was why he wanted to hang a "NO CHARMINGS ALLOWED" sign on the door to the pawnshop more than once. Later. For now: Lunch.

* * *

The front door to Gold's house had pretty stained glass around the solid wood. It didn't look as imposing as the floor-to-ceiling three-inch-thick oaken monstrosities that littered the Dark Castle like the seven gates of hell...but in its own way...

Regina knocked, her heart leaping into her throat.

Shortly, Henry answered the door. "Hey Mom...what are you doing here?"

"I...um...I need to talk to you."

Henry frowned. "What happened? Did Hook get off scot-free?"

"No, no, ah, no, he's gone. I asked the D.A. to be a neutral third party, just so it was...fair." Well really, just _fairer_. What was fair was booting Hook out on his ass. This way, he couldn't whine that they'd turned on him and raise any rabble. "Um. There was a problem, though. Homer couldn't find any of the old records on the computer...and the evidence gun was put back...and...and Emma's been suspended for tampering with police evidence."

Henry stood very still for a moment.

"Could you repeat that, please? And uh," he stepped back out the doorway. "Come in. Please."

Regina did so. And she reached out to hold her son's hand as she did so, too. Emma had fucked up today. Yesterday. Whatever. The point was that she had rushed in trying to cover the dirt on her precious husband for reasons Regina was too upset to begin to comprehend, and even if she had gotten away with it, obviously she didn't stop to think about anyone else. Not her father the sheriff. Not the people of Storybrooke. Not the kid that had been hit by the pirate. And certainly not her children, Cleo, (who Regina was getting to worry about the longer this sham of a marriage went on,) and Henry.

Oh god. _Henry_.

"Emma erased some of the records, and she got rid of the statments David had written down yesterday. She put back the gun he'd set aside as evidence, and Homer suggested she be suspended if not fired. I don't disagree. She's been put off for four weeks, I haven't talked to her yet because I couldn't stand to look at her, I'm going to try to push for her to see Archie and get an evaluation...I don't...I don't know what else I can do."

Henry nodded slowly. His grip on her hand was tight, though, and his face drained.

"I-I don't know either," he stammered. "Wh-what...what happens next?"

Regina sighed, shaking her head.

"I have no idea."

* * *

"You mean she tried to hide the evidence? From her father, who filed the evidence, and Regina, who has those pictures you sent?"

"Yup."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she's stupid?" Oliver offered, sounding like he hadn't meant to say it outloud and looking slightly sheepish that it popped out there. No one disagreed. Except...

"It might not be that she's stupid, precisely." Gold sighed, drumming his fingers on the countertop. He had polished off a whole ham sandwich, which Henry was glad for. Maybe he was just exhausted...not headed in a downwards spiral. That was some of the better news today.

Regina had gone after delivering some of the most upsetting news Henry had ever heard. He wanted to call Emma and scream at her...but he couldn't help but think that wouldn't do anyone any good. Even himself. He was so outraged by now that he felt oddly calm, maybe he was past the point of anger. That was odd to think about. But not impossible. Still, he had no idea why Rumpelstiltskin was the one person speaking...remotely sympathetically, of Emma right now.

"What else could it be?" Henry asked.

Gold closed his eyes for a beat, then sat up and spread out his hands. "Desperation. Complete and irrational desperation."

"What's she desperate for, though?" Violet asked, sounding more than a little irritated. "She wasn't _in_ trouble! It was all his fault, he had what was coming to him."

"That's why, right there." Gold said with a flick of his fingertip. "When you love someone enough, or at least think you do, when you're so desperate to make things right for their approval, you'll do anything...even if it goes against everything you know is right."

Belle went very still out the corner of Henry's eye. The tension ratched up a degree in the kitchen. That sounded like it came from a very personal place-

"Um...that was, ah, that was Milah's favorite method." Gold cleared his throat, looking down at the ring on his finger.

"Milah? Like...that Milah?" Henry asked. He had to, because Gold _never_ talked about that woman. He could count on the number of times they'd talked about it on one hand, actually, and Gold had been completely uncomfortable. Enough that Henry had only asked enough to make sure he had the record straight...and it had _pained_ him to ask Hook questions about it because it veered sharply into "anti-Rumpelstiltskin territory" so fast it was dizzying. "Dad's mom?"

"Aye. That's the one."

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say she ran off with Captain Hook? So he's been with your grandmother, and your mother...and knew your father for a time as a child?"

Oliver wrinkled his nose. "The more I hear about that guy, the grosser he is."

And at that, Gold snickered a bit, the tension melting, running far away from his current marriage. "Aye. She...she ah, her favorite tactic was dangling the promise of another chance in front of me, usually after she told me I was so pathetic I'd do anything to have at that chance."

"Emotional manipulation?" Henry guessed.

"They didn't have a name for it at the time, but that is the gist of it. I can't say that's what happened in the marriage of the Mrs. Jones, but I know someone desperate enough could do all manner of stupid things and call it an act of love, just trying to feel like they can do something right."

Belle pressed her lips together. "I don't think Hook's clever enough to do that. At least, not on purpose. All I know for fact is that Emma isn't exactly happy, but that doesn't matter to her either. She's determined to make their marriage work as long as Cleo is there. No matter what."

"She's ruining her life for him though!" Henry growled. "All she's going to end up left with is Cleo if she keeps at it, maybe not even that. She doesn't have friends, she doesn't have a life, her whole world revolves around the leaky boat that is her shitty marriage. Hook doesn't even do anything with Cleo, a divorce wouldn't bother him!"

"Except it might," Violet said slowly, laying her hand on Henry's arm. "You remember how you used to say he was pushing for you to move out after you turned eighteen, but when you did it on your terms, he was spoiling for a fight? It'd be just like that, only Emma _won't_ fight back."

Shit.

Violet was totally right though. Hook was a big believer in "a man's home is his castle" and everybody else had to obey his rules. When he and Emma were first married, Henry couldn't remember it being that bad though. It got worse though...but then...Emma had been disturbingly good at hiding a lot of things. She could've been breaking piece by piece for years until Hook had his perfect little Stepford Wife, and Henry had never noticed the true damage done. No one had. Not even Emma.

And she _wouldn't_ fight back. The bravest she'd been towards Hook in the past ten years had been an attempt to leave him that fell flat as soon as she found she was pregnant.

Belle was right; Emma told Henry once that she'd grown up without her parents, and been completely miserable. She was determined to give Cleo an upbringing with two parents, and a roof over her head. She just didn't seem to realize that the nuclear family wasn't always the way to go...especially when one parent was a hard-drinking, foul-mouthed, neglectful piece of shit like Hook was.

"You can't help someone who doesn't want to help themselves," Belle said plainly. "You can try, but you can't force it."

Henry nodded slowly. But he didn't want to agree with it.

He wanted his mother back. The real Emma.

* * *

When the power came back on, they'd piled on the couch with some popcorn and watched a movie. Leroy had never thought about kids much until he and Astrid had them, but, it didn't feel that long ago that Opal had been four, and now she was nine and _the twins_ were four, and he didn't want to miss these moments when he could squeeze his odd little family onto their well-loved couch all at once. It was very sentimental, but, maybe that's what being a parent did to you.

It wasn't all happy and sunny though. If it were, anyone would be a parent.

There were times when your children would throw up, cry for the strangest reasons, act like hellions, be totally unreasonable, react in a totally different way than you were expecting, make you upset, when you might accidentally upset them, and in general do a thousand things that nobody ever talked about when they said how much they wanted to have children. Somehow, Leroy and Astrid had been lucky enough to avoid much of the hellion stuff. Either they had easy kids, or they were decent parents, it was a bit hard for him to tell.

While their children were usually polite, if precocious to the point of having to be told _why_ they couldn't stick things in electrical sockets and leave the house without telling anyone in person, (a rule necessitated by Opal leaving "a note" that wasn't very coherent to their eyes even though she insisted it was clear in her 4-year-old handwriting,) once in awhile Leroy found himself wondering what it'd be like to have some nice, plain, stupid children.

Probably boring as hell, which was why he didn't wonder that too often. Just every once in awhile, when something especially unusual happened...like this, for instance.

The can opener had gone missing because Peter and Joseph took it. They'd put it on a shelf in the laundry room, and Leroy had been too focused on finding it to wonder why it was there. Earlier today, he'd been going through the cabinets looking for some canned something or other to eat. Some of his sardine tins were missing, along with some other things that he hadn't noticed until he was looking. For months, Joseph had been going on about this cat named Sam.

He and Astrid had figured it was imaginary...

But the plump gray cat curled up in a cardboard box in the laundry room, who gave Leroy one bored look before closing its eyes again and ignoring him, was not imaginary. At all. Nor was the little dish with some tuna piled on it. Or the little saucer with milk that looked to be untouched.

Hmm.

He went back to the living room where his wife and children were picking a new movie to watch. "Boys, is that...Sam? In the laundry room?"

"Uh-huh." They answered at the same time.

"Right...well... _why_ is he in the laundry room?"

Peter looked up at him like he'd taken leave of his senses. "The blister outside!"

"Ah. Of course. The blizzard, right..."

Astrid and Opal seemed to catch on, then, that Sam was not quite as imaginary as they had thought. In fact, not imaginary at all. Astrid bit her lip, then blurted out, "Please tell me it's not a skunk."

"Oh no, it's a real cat." Thank god. He hadn't actually been worried about _that_ until Astrid thought of it. So it could be worse.

"Good," she sighed. "Then we can worry about it later."

"Seriously?" Opal blinked.

"Well, would you like to take it to the vet today, or tomorrow when this weather is cleared up?"

Opal seemed to take the same stance as Leroy and shrugged, settling back in her spot on the sofa. They probably asked for this. Just assuming that Peter and Joseph had "adopted" an imaginary cat instead of verifying the facts. Well, it wasn't a skunk, neither boy had rabies so far as he could tell, and so far they were just down a few jars of peanut butter and canned goods.

All in all, it could have been much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold: Sam is real! :)
> 
> (I thought that might've been just a little random, but darn it, everything else was so heavy in this chapter. *pets the cat*)


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had been giving these chapters names, I'd probably call this: "Belle Picks A Side, Henry Is Running Out Of Patience, and With Great Power..." Read on.

It didn't feel like it had only been...two, three...yeah, three days, since Papa fell down the stairs. (Because Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman were jackasses.) Yesterday Oliver had blasted Neal out the bathroom with magic he didn't know he had. And had also run away, and been jumped by Hook. Twice.

Today was Tuesday, the fourth of March. Garrick's birthday was Sunday, but that still felt like years away. Right now, Oliver peered outside in the late afternoon to see the big snowplow going down the street, clearing the roads.

Henry had gone out to shovel the driveway. Violet had left him to it...Oliver would say she did the right thing. That was some aggressive snow-shoveling. (He had good reasons though...) And Mama had gone to change into her clothes from yesterday, and Papa had settled down to knit. Oliver stayed in the living room with Papa. Mostly because he didn't want to think about what it meant that Mama was changing clothes. Specifically, it meant they were going to leave. Or she was.

Oliver hadn't asked yet...

He left his spot by the window and came over to sit by Papa. Since Papa was really, really old, (no offense,) he must've had a lot of practice with knitting. That made sense. Oliver didn't think he'd _ever_ be that fast without centuries of practice under his belt. Just watching Papa go kind of made Oliver sleepy, so he shook his head and snapped out of his trance, looking at his face.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know why I...I magicked Neal, _now_? I mean I'm...it's...why hasn't that ever happened before?" That was bothering him. He'd been pissed at Neal Nolan and his Merry Band of Morons before, and he'd gotten in fights with them before while pissed. But nothing like this had ever happened. The mines maybe. But before that? Nothing.

Papa hummed, slowing down to a stop, the silence noticeable after the steady clicking of needles. Violet glanced up from her phone where she was texting her father, but said nothing. She could be real quiet and sneaky. She'd be a great spy.

"I'm not sure." Papa confessed. "Magic is a funny thing. Cora didn't even have powers yet when she gave birth to her, but Zelena has more power than Regina does. Snow White and Charming haven't an ounce of magic in their veins save that of True Love, of which their children are products of. Emma was destined to be the Savior, that may be why she took to magic so quickly."

"Like we really need Neal Nolan to have magical powers..." Violet muttered to herself, bringing out a smile from Papa.

Oliver thought about that for a minute. He knew most of his parents story, in pieces. Mama made a deal to be Papa's maid to protect Avonlea from the Ogres. Mama and Papa fell in love in the Dark Castle, her being a horrible maid and Papa being bad at being...bad, while Mama was around. (Once she'd gone so far as to say he was a dork.) At some point, Mama kissed Papa. It almost broke Papa's curse. He needed the curse to find Bae, or was too scared to give it up, but...things after that got fuzzy. Things _between_ that got fuzzy, too...but didn't that possibly make him a child of True Love?

Or, more likely, it was 'cause Papa was the Dark One. Even if he promised he hadn't passed on dark magic to Oliver, he still knew his father was a big deal. He was smart, powerful, and experienced. And Cora turned out to be a big, scary deal herself, so maybe she had some of that latent power of her own?

"Another thing to remember is that magic is strongly tied to your emotions. Strictly speaking," Papa said, breaking that that chain of thought. "If I were in your place that day, I probably would have turned the boy into a snail." He stopped to think for a moment. "At least I suppose so...when I first took my powers as the Dark One, when I had some control left, I believe I turned all the Ogres into earthworms. Or was it snails?"

"Why all the snails?"

"I dunno. Something small and slimy you could crush underfoot, I suppose." Papa frowned, fidgeting with whatever he was knitting, checking the rows. "I'm not very _proud_ of what I did, now. I went from having no power to all the power in the world, and it went right to my head like strong drink. I won't say that everyone turns into a monster with magic at their fingertips, Merlin is a good example. Fairies like Tinker Bell and Astrid. Regina's turned herself around. It all...it all depends on how you use it."

He kept saying that. Oliver supposed, thinking that way, it was a good thing not a lot of people in Storybrooke had magic. The Blue Fairy was a bitch, but she kept to herself half the time. Zelena...well she was locked up now, that was good. But it was still kind of scary. He'd never had something so _important_ as magical powers.

"With great power, comes great responsibility." Violet said.

Papa hummed. "That's very wise, Violet."

She grinned sheepishly. "I really wish I could take the credit for it, but that's a quote from one of Henry's superheroes. Spider-Man, I think?"

"Still, the wisdom is there." Papa smiled back. Then he turned to Oliver and squeezed his shoulder. "Magic isn't all terrifying, though. One thing you'll learn quickly is that magic is scented."

That fact was so absurd that Oliver didn't believe him. It must've shown on his face because Papa smiled wider, tapping the end of Oliver's nose.

"Oh it's true. Everyone has their own style of magic, and that colored smoke you see? That has a scent that's unique to each person. Bit of a taste too."

"You can't be serious." Oliver giggled. "Really?"

Papa grinned a little. "Sadly I am not. That was one of the strangest things I ever learned. Regina, I should warn you, always smells a bit like black coffee and strong spices. It takes a bit of getting used to."

"Did you have coffee in the Enchanted Forest?"

"No. At the time I just thought it was acrid and unpleasant...not a bit unlike Regina before she got her life reordered."

"What are you talking about?" Mama asked, coming back into the living room, smoothing down her blouse. "I heard unpleasant and Regina, did I miss a story?"

Oliver shifted on the sofa, turning to look at her. "Papa's trying to tell me magic has smell, depending on who's doing it."

"Oh. Well...a bit, I guess," Mama scrunched up her nose, like she was trying to think about it. "Does it change depending on your preferences? Because the few times she came to see me in the Enchanted Forest, that teleporting smoke... _stuff_ , smelled a lot bad, bitter coffee, and now it's sort of...smoother, I guess? Sweeter?"

"It's...possible. I suppose so." Papa seemed to think about it for a moment. "Yes, that's probably right."

"You can smell it too?" Oliver asked his mother. "What did Papa smell like?"

Mama bit her lip, glancing at Papa for just a second before looking away again. "Like...well a bit like sandalwood, and a bit like a leath-A bit like leather."

Oliver sort of knew what leather smelled like, but he didn't have any idea what sandalwood was. Did it smell like the sawdust in Marco's workshop? That didn't smell so great. Why was it called sandalwood anyway, did people used to make sandals out of it or what? Why couldn't Papa just smell like something simple, like a pine tree? Well...it was _Papa_. Papa wouldn't smell like something simple. He chose to believe it smelled like the cologne Papa wore.

"So...do I get to smell like that?"

"Ah...I'm not sure. I couldn't really smell _myself_ ," Papa shrugged. "I suppose you'll have to wait and see Friday. Did you happen to take note of any specific colors during either incident? Flashes of light, puffs of smoke?"

"A yellow light. Golden, I guess?"

Papa hummed, his eyebrows rising. "Interesting. That tends to change from person to person too. Although the basic default color seems to be purple smoke."

Well, yellow or purple, that didn't really matter to Oliver. He hoped he didn't smell like something gross, but really, so long as his magic wasn't Blue Fairy blue, he might be able to get a handle on this thing after all...

* * *

Shoveling off the driveway was tedious, laborious work. Henry was too tired to be mad, his arms burning, by the time he was finished, just like he'd hoped.

He went around to the mud room's door, stomping snow off his boots and leaving them on the mat there in the mud room before heading back inside. He took a deep breath, feeling slightly more composed than he had since yesterday. His grandfather was home safe. His favorite uncle, Oliver, had magic, but for the moment he was safe here too. Belle was on their side. She had even apologized for something she'd done in the car, an argument or something, he hadn't gotten the details but she and Gold seemed okay right now. Better than what _had been_ the normal, at least. Violet was here and being the amazing, supportive miracle of a girlfriend she was, and he adored her for that. Hook was fired.

A lot of good seemed poised to come out of this bullshit. Roses growing from a pile of manure. His zen outlook was threatened by a phone call from his grandmother, which he didn't take. He checked the voicemail instead:

" _Hi Henry, it's me. Um, I was just calling to see how you were. I heard about Emma...ah, look, would you do me a favor? Hornsby wants to have Neal and Tommy, Phil, Robbi, and Oliver at school tomorrow afternoon, could you pass the message along to Belle? She won't answer the phone and I need to talk to her..."_  

Belle's phone had died, and she'd left it to charge at her apartment, as Henry understood it. It must have thrown everyone off. Not having Belle on call when they wanted her.

 _"Just so everyone's on the same page. And I heard about Gold, I hope he's okay too. This was...this was bad, I'm sorry it got so out of hand, David's trying to come up with a list of people to interview for the position of deputy to replace Hook right now. And we're going to see about getting Neal in to see Archie, but we're waiting to see what turns up after this school meeting before we pass down real judgement."_   Oh, she had to be _told_ it was worse? _"Well it's a meeting at school, but school won't be back in until Thursday. Um...that's about it I guess. Take care."_

Henry sighed. He was _really_ glad he hadn't answered that.

He had Gold, Oliver, and Emma to worry about right now, he didn't need Snow trying to make nice. Honestly, he didn't trust her not to try and sway him over to whatever she saw as _their_ side. When he was a kid, he'd happily followed after her and Gramps and Emma because they were supposed to be the heroes. And in his heart he did believe that they were still heroes...they'd just gotten a bit too high in their ivory towers.

When he started growing out of his hero-worshipping days, Henry decided he liked his life to be lived on the ground level, among the people. That way you had a real grip on what the issues were.

He knew that Hook was an unpopular deputy and that Regina and D.A. Homer had just locked in their re-election wins by taking steps to get rid of him. He knew that the Storybrooke citizens that hadn't been born as "real" humans in the Enchanted Forest weren't so crazy about the Charming way of pasting a smile on and everyone getting along without self-examination. And he knew, through Grace, that if Snow didn't slow down and think, she was likely to be terminated from her teaching post.

Henry loved his grandmother. He really did. In times of crisis, she bravely defended their family and town, she took daring risks that belied her non-threatening appearance, and had a kind heart. Really. But good god, she was so-She was so-Sometimes she was so  _dense_ that Henry wanted to thank god that he'd been raised by The Evil Queen ten years before meeting her, properly.

According to Grace, the biggest complaint towards Snow was that she rarely ever looked to find the underlying issues that caused fights in her classroom. With Robbi and Opal for example, she was so focused on trying to make them stop fighting she had totally missed that Opal was being accidentally bullied because Robbi didn't have social skills. And since Snow didn't have the heart, really, to try to tell Robbi what she did wrong, she'd just told Opal to be nicer and more understanding, instead. That wasn't just an isolated incident, Grace had claimed. That was Snow's MO. _"Let's just all get along!"_

It didn't work...thinking like that _never_ worked, it just gave one group the power to shame the other group into submission. There was no negotiation, no understanding, no progress.

It wasn't just limited to school though...Henry didn't want to be the one to do it, but somebody needed to give Snow White an attitude adjustment.

* * *

Every time she'd been in Rumple's house since his...since his attempt on his own life, Belle had felt the urge to flee as soon as she no longer had a good reason to stay there. She hadn't wanted to leave when he got back from the hospital on Saturday, but, she also felt she wouldn't be helpful there, either. She couldn't say she was being helpful today...but she didn't feel the urge to flee. She almost felt comfortable.

Except for Rumple's admission poking the back of her mind.

He had said it had been Milah that was the emotional manipulator. Belle knew that his first wife had been...bad. Sometimes he spoke about it like it had been his fault she left, other times he spoke like he resented her. When he did talk about it. Unsurprisingly, Belle was happy to hear as little about Milah as possible. She used to think she was better than the woman who abandoned her child to run off with the first man to give her an out, than the woman who didn't appreciate a man as sweet and devoted to his family as Rumpelstiltskin was. Still was.

Now...?

Now...now she had her husband's own words running circles around her mind. Maddening circles.

_**"When you love someone enough, or at least think you do, when you're so desperate to make things right for their approval, you'll do anything...even if it goes against everything you know is right..."** _

_**"Her favorite tactic was dangling the promise of another chance in front of me, usually after she told me I was so pathetic I'd do anything to have at that chance..."** _

_**"Someone desperate enough could do all manner of stupid things and call it an act of love, just trying to feel like they can do something right..."** _

He spoke it all slowly, like it had hurt him to dredge up this part of his past...and Belle had felt a wave of coldness wash over her as he first described a rather textbook case of emotional abuse. Not just manipulation. Abuse. Deliberately setting up traps for him to fail, watching him try his hardest while having no intentions of letting him succeed. Moving the goal posts, yanking his chain, leading him on...

Violet had gone off somewhere at about four, probably to change out of Henry's borrowed clothes. The plan was to go to Granny's Diner for an early dinner, drop Belle and Oliver off at the library, and take Violet home. Rumple had hesitantly said he would tag along. Belle had suggested that if Granny's was too crowded, she could return the favor and host them at her apartment. It seemed like such a small thing, but it felt important to offer the option.

Oliver went upstairs to collect his things, Henry had gone off to shower and change clothes. That kinda left Belle and Gold alone in the living room, on opposite ends of the couch since that's where they'd been sitting. It had been cozy with Oliver between them. Now there was nothing but air and empty space. And the little doubts nibbling at Belle's mind.

They couldn't have been there for more than five minutes, maybe eight, when Rumple set his knitting aside, drumming his fingers on his knees.

"I should get my coat and tie."

"Ah."

Rumple nodded, reaching for his cane. The potion he'd taken must really have been mild, enough to heal his sprain and speed along recovery from his concussion, but not touch his prexisting injury...

"Can I ask you a question?" Belle heard herself say. _Oh damn_.

"I...suppose." Rumpelstiltskin nodded slowly, rolling his cane between his palms. "What about?"

"About...about, um..." Oh god, she hadn't meant to say anything, why did she say anything? No turning back though... _do the brave thing_... "What you said earlier. About, um, about...about being desperate for approval, dangled promises...I just...I was just...I know that you _meant_ Milah, but did...did I ever...?"

"You?" Rumple's brows pressed together, as if he didn't understand. "No, you're not like Milah. You are...much kinder than she was-"

"Don't say I'm kinder to spare my feelings, please." Belle winced. "I know I haven't always been _kind_."

"I haven't made it easy for you, either."

"And neither did I. I mean...the Black Cauldron, okay? The sleeping curse? Throwing you over the town line?"

Rumple looked down at the gilded head of his cane. "You had good reasons not to trust me. I understand."

Belle gave a hollow chuckle, shaking her head. She had good reasons. Of course she did. But when did her good reasons reach a limit, and she just became unreasonable? No one had ever told her she had less than "good reasons" for leaving Rumple. Sometimes they hinted at _maybe_ she should keep an open mind, but sometimes she didn't want to listen to that advice. And Rumple? Rumple always understood. Or at least he _thought_ he did....

Very little was solely his fault in this world. Or the last. Some definitely, but it was _unreasonable_ to blame him for all of their problems.

But before she could say what she wanted to say,-that he did not understand, that he should not be so ready to accept blame because Milah had trained him to think that way, and she was so sorry to reinforce it if that's what she'd done,-Henry called out from somewhere in the house: "Hey! Grandpa? When's your next appointment with Archie supposed to be, tomorrow or Wednesday?"

Rumple got to his feet, clearing his throat as he walked towards Henry's voice and out the living room. "Today is Tuesday, _tomorrow_ is Wednesday!"

"Is it? Oh. Well is your appointment then?"

"Today was supposed to be my appointment, we'll have to ask Hopper if he's at the diner."

"I'll just call him, I don't want to bother him with work off the clock. Poor guy's got a lot on his plate as it is..."

Belle settled back against the couch to wait. The furniture was the same. The house smelled the same. But not much else was the same...maybe that was for the best though.

This way, they had a chance of moving forwards into something new...even if part of her would always long for the old days when Rumple called her his sweetheart and she could cuddle into him without worrying about boundaries and crossing lines. But maybe it was for the best those stayed as the old days. She missed them, but maybe they would do better to keep those boundaries in place, so neither got hurt again. Or Oliver, for that matter...

Their child needed them to have a united front right now, and that was what mattered most.

* * *

Mommy hadn't come to pick her up yet, and Cleo was starting to wonder why.

She had a nice time with Lydia. They'd eaten pancakes for lunch and had pretended to be spies while lots of people were still at the inn. Once the people started heading home once the power came back on, they'd gotten hungry and had a snack while sitting in one of the empty inn rooms and looking out the frosty window. Everything outside was white, or where there wasn't snow, it was kinda dark. It looked pretty, but also cold. Cleo was wearing the Christmas sweater she'd gotten this year, the one with the cat playing with a jingle bell, which was nice and warm.

Lydia had a sweater that was bright red on one side and blue on the other. It was too big, but she said she liked it that way because she'd grow into it. Granny had made it for her. (She didn't make sweaters for Todd because he was a messy eater, but she made him some cookies he liked even better.) Cleo's two bestest friends were Lydia and Stephanie. She'd known Stephanie since they were babies and met in daycare, but Lydia had come to town in kindergarten. Cleo was the only kid who didn't think it was weird that she had two moms. Her big brother Henry had two.

Her mom Ruby was "Mama" and her mom Dorothy was "Mommy", and it was very clever of her to give them different names. Regina and Mommy always both looked when Henry called for "Mom" and it was kinda confusing. Neither mother looked like Lydia, who had pretty brown eyes and black corkscrew curls and dark red-brown skin almost the color of Grandma's mahogany dining table, but that was 'cause they were adopted. That wasn't weird either. There were some older boys in high school that had been adopted, Mommy said they were the Lost Boys and to keep away from them. They didn't much like Papa.

Lydia didn't mind not having a daddy of her own. Most anything a daddy could do, her mothers and Granny could too, she said. She still listened and asks some questions though. Cleo was glad she'd listen. She had tried asking Stephanie once if her father ever got angry and broke things, but Stephanie had just thought that meant if he got angry _or_ broke things.

There was a difference between "and" and "or," Henry told her that once. And he was a writer so he knew stuff like that.

She'd told Lydia before that Daddy sometimes stayed out all night. Lydia listened like she usually did, then wriggled under the table and motioned for Cleo to join her. The floor under the table wasn't icky, and Lydia looked around like there might be a spy under there with them before cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Mama was out in the woods yesterday, looking for Oliver," she whispered. "I heard Mommy talking to her on the phone before we came here. After they found him, Mama and Garrick Booth's mom both went to the sheriff's station. Cap'n Hook hit Oliver, and pointed a gun at Mr. Gold."

"What? Why would Daddy hit him?"

"I dunno. That's what I heard Mommy say. And Granny's real mad. She slammed around pots and pans while she was cleaning last night muttering bad words to herself."

She really was mad, then. Cleo didn't know why Daddy would hit Oliver, though, so maybe there was a misunderstanding here? She'd never seen Daddy hit anyone, but she thought since he was a cop and a hero, he only punched bad guys. That didn't really _explain_ why he had a gun pointed at Mr. Gold. Wasn't he at home? Mr. Gold used to be the Dark One, and he was kinda scary, but not so much anymore. He just seemed...sad.

"Do you think Daddy stayed out all night drinking?" Cleo asked slowly, not really wanting an answer. She'd hoped Daddy was just out 'cause he got trapped by the storm.

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe. He didn't come here. Mr. French did..." she giggled. "Granny charged him extra 'cause he's been a buttface to Miss Belle."

Cleo giggled, too. Who could be a buttface to Miss Belle? She was nice, pretty, smart lady with bright blue eyes like Oliver had, and darker brown hair. She wasn't very tall when she wasn't wearing high heels, and she knew just about everything worth knowing. Mr. French really must've been a buttface. One that hadn't left the diner yet, so they couldn't giggle too much, but Cleo couldn't stop once she'd started.

At least until a cane tapped into view in front of their table.

Cleo and Lydia poked their heads out to see Mr. Gold and Miss Belle standing in the diner. Henry and Violet were talking to two of their friends at a table, and Oliver had hung back by them. Some people were coming out for dinner now that he roads were being cleared. Maybe she and Lydia ought to not be hiding under tables.

"Hi." Lydia chirped. "This booth is taken, may I help you find another?" Lydia was practicing her good manners in case she became a waitress in the dinner someday, like her mama.

Miss Belle giggled. "That's okay, we can manage. Thank you anyway Lydia."

They wiggled back up onto the bench seats as Oliver turned around. And Cleo's tummy flipped.

He had a fat blue-purple mark on his cheek, a big dark bruise that looked painful. Oliver was passing their table to sit at the booth with his parents by the time Cleo found her voice, and she almost jumped out the booth catching his coat's sleeve.

Oliver turned to look at her and Cleo felt like she'd suddenly stepped outside into the snow.

"Did...did my daddy hit you?"

Oliver blinked. He didn't say anything. Mommy did that sometimes. It usually meant yes. Daddy had done something terrible. And they wouldn't tell her about it.

Henry came over then, smiling at Cleo and she felt like she was going to cry. "Hello Cleo-" he always said that, it was _usually_ funny 'cause it rhymed, "-what's up?"

His smile started fading the more Cleo just looked at him. He glanced at Oliver's bruise and swallowed. Henry did that, too, sometimes. It usually meant he knew what Daddy had done, but didn't want to tell Cleo, either. Sometimes she wondered if it was because she was a kid, or if it was because she was Daddy's daughter and no one wanted to say something mean where she could hear it. Or both.

Then the door opened and Mommy hurried in. She looked around for Cleo, found her, and then froze to the spot when she saw Henry was there.

Out the corner of her eye, Cleo saw Mr. French, who had a table near the front windows reading a day-old paper, leaving his seat and walking towards the back booths where Miss Belle was sitting. She saw Ruby looking from Henry and Emma to something behind them, probably Mr. French and Belle, and bite her red lip while coming out from behind the counter and whisking Lydia and Cleo upstairs to get her stuff.

There was going to be some big fights downstairs, Cleo could feel it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you hoping Violet gets a chance to give Emma Jones a piece of her mind? Sadly, not yet, but her opinion of Mrs. Jones is significantly lowered. (I feel so sorry for Emma as I'm writing her dialogue...my god woman.) For those of you who want to see Belle really give Moe a piece of her mind? You're in for Part One of an argumentative treat for the next update. :3


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some post-posting edits because the last paragraph was all one block of text, but the words are all the same. Darned flickering Wi-Fi.

Not long after she'd sat down and realized she was sitting _alone_ with Rumple at the table, Papa was standing right in front of the table where Belle couldn't avoid him. She was surprised to see him here, Granny never gave him the discount she gave other people during emergencies. But then his apartment did get awfully cold.

"Hello Belle," he began, politely enough. "I'm glad to see you're alright, I've been trying to call you. I was worried."

Belle cursed herself for not minding her stupid cell phone again. "My phone died, sorry about that."

Papa nodded. And for a moment, Belle felt stable. This was okay. Papa was worried about them, he didn't mean any harm, meant no insult. This was okay-

"I wasn't just worried about the weather...Sheriff Nolan mentioned what Oliver did yesterday. Are you okay?"

And there it was.

One of the biggest fights she and Rumple had ever had involving her father had been when Rumple heard Papa had tried to get her to leave Oliver with the fairies. Rumple had demanded to know why she thought it was safe to expose Oliver to a man who pressured her to abandon their son, while Belle had argued vehemently that her father had the absolute best of intentions. Intent is meaningless, Rumple had snarled back, and that ended another reconcilation attempt.

"I'm fine Papa...we're all fine." Belle answered as politely as she could, when she wanted to glare holes through her father. He hadn't apologized yet. Usually if they were having a tiff, Belle caved first. It was easier. This time she wasn't backing down so easily, especially since she had made it clear she wasn't tolerating this anti-Rumple attitude anymore.

"Are you sure?" Papa pressed. "It sounds like the boy did some serious damage, I don't want you getting mixed up in any of that dark magic again-

" _Papa_..." At the time eight years ago, it was so very easy to snap that Rumple was paranoid and petty, that something that happened years ago didn't matter now. Today, Belle thought she might've done better to regard her father with more caution...

"Mr. French," Rumple said suddenly, watching his fingers tap on the tabletop. "By any chance did you ask what happened, or did you just assumed that my son is the Antichrist and go from there?"

Papa turned his attention from Belle to Rumple. She'd been told she had her father's eyes a few times as a child. She certainly hoped she'd never looked at anyone with as much loathing, disgust, and venom in her blue eyes as he had turned on Rumpelstiltskin at that moment.

" _You_ keep out of this. It's your fault he's like this, anyway!" he snarled viciously. "It was only a matter of time before the darkness in your shriveled heart infect that boy, you should have left Storybrooke when you had the chance and left my girl and her son alone!"

Belle felt her jaw drop stupidly. She knew her father had no affection for Rumple, in fact, she knew the feeling was mutual. And she knew that her father wasn't half as gracious as Rumple was, she could recount three incidents off the top of her stunned head right now where Papa had railed against everything Rumpelstiltskin was. Two of those times had Belle storming away to cool off for a few weeks before her father came around with his version of an apology: Never mentioning the topic in her presence for months. Or weeks. But he'd never said such cruel things to Rumple...or at least...not that she'd ever seen...

Perhaps not ever, though. Rumple looked down to the tabletop's laminated surface, becoming very still. His eyes were a million miles away and he didn't say a word in his own defense. Papa took this to mean he'd found a chink in the fearsome Dark One's armor, and he jabbed a thick finger inches from Rumple's nose, his voice a mean growl of warning that turned Belle's stomach.

"You'll stay away from my family, if you have ever truly care about them-"

"Don't you dare!" Belle snapped, jumping to her feet without a second thought. (That was a lie, she thought about it for a second afterwards and decided to hell with it.) She was nearly a foot shorter than her father, but felt ten feet tall as she glared up into his stunned face. "Don't you _dare_ speak to him that way, and don't you dare call us 'your family' when you've been sulking for the past few weeks when I said I wouldn't tolerate this very behavior!"

Papa blinked, and then tried to recover some of his composure with a stern frown. "I am your father, and I want what's best for you and Oliver. I'm trying to protect you from this beast-"

"If you call him a beast where I can hear you ever again Papa, I swear to god, I will never speak a civil word to you again!"

"Stop being so bloody stubborn for once in your life! Think, Belle! When has he ever brought you anything but heartache? I won't watch you fall to pieces again because he fails you again, this time I'm going to keep you safe."

And didn't he just speak it with the utmost conviction? Papa was so sure he was in the right to blame Rumple, that he must be the root of all evils. And it was just as good to run him off as it was to treat Belle like a child that couldn't think for herself. And he would never apologize for it, because maybe in his own way he did love her, but Sir Maurice and Moe French alike didn't give a damn about Belle's personal autonomy, they just wanted a good little girl that did as she was told. And no grandson that was a constant reminder of her disobedience.

She heard herself speak truthful words in a low, deadly calm voice as she came to this revelation:

"You will never get to decide my life for me, and you have no right to speak that way to Rumpelstiltskin. He isn't perfect, he has failed me in the past, but he is kinder and more devoted and understanding to my son than you could ever be, and that's who I need on my side now. Oliver's father. Not an overzealous, prejudiced, selfish grandfather that only wants to drive my husband away so I can marry someone he picked to father grandsons more to his liking!"

Papa blinked. His mouth opened and shut like a fish, completely silent. Belle felt hot and her skin was too tight and her breathing was shallow and she was still furious, but god, she had said it and she wouldn't take it back.

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!"

That made anyone with eyes and ears turn towards the front of the diner to see what had happened during the other parent-child confrontation...

* * *

Violet couldn't remember what Grace and Gretel were teasing her about once Henry walked away to go see his little sister. Something stupid like "dinner with the family" or something. Their friends nicknamed them "The Old Married Couple" since they'd been together forever, figuratively speaking, but they managed to keep finding new jokes. Well Grace did. She must've gotten that talent from her father.

Then the diner's bell jingled.

Emma had arrived. Obviously she would either need to arrive, or must've been somewhere on the premises if Cleo was there. Violet saw her freeze, then Henry freezed, too, and Ruby Lucas was shooing the two little girls out the room like she could see the storm coming.

Grace and Gretel went quiet. The three dwarves at the counter were sneak-watching the front of the diner, and peeking over their shoulders when Mr. French got up and walked over to Belle. Uh-oh. A storm on two fronts, then. As interesting as it would have been to pay attention to both, Violet chose to focus on the one her boyfriend was about to walk into...

Emma made the first move. She took a few cautious steps forwards, looking around the diner nervously before clearing her throat. "Hi."

"Hi." Henry said back, watching her with sharp, narrowed eyes. "Where's Hook?"

"Killian is...he's gone down to the docks. Uh, he's looking for a job actually-"

"Did he take a deck of cards and a bottle of rum with him?"

"Henry, that's not fair. Look I know...I-I know I messed up, I did, but we're going to try to fix-"

A muscle in Henry's jaw twitched. "Can you fix this?" he put a hand on Oliver's shoulder, drawing your eye to the horrible bruise on the boy's face. "Because this happened, because of him, and that's not something you can fix for his sorry ass."

Emma's mouth open and shut a few times. If she was just now noticing the damage on Oliver's face, the most damning evidence of all, then Violet's opinion of her was drastically lowered. Henry must've thought the same thing, because he scowled fiercely. His grip on Oliver's shoulder turned protective. And he shook his head slowly.

"You were the Savior, once. You used to find people like Hook and hold him accountable for shit like this-"

"He _changed_ , Henry! I wouldn't have married him if I didn't believe that."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I really don't think you married the right Killian Jones then. This one drinks, picks on innocents, and is kind of a terrible dad-"

"He isn't a terrible dad, you just-You just-You don't accept him, and I've accepted that-"

"Oh you accept that?" Henry's eyebrows went up. "You accept that? Wow. Okay. Well you're right, I don't accept him because I don't deserve to be a whipping boy for when your pirate is in a bad mood, I don't accept that I have to play nice when he fights dirty, and I will not accept him as my father because I already had a good one."

Emma's eyes flashed with something like hurt, and something like a warning. "Henry I am not having this discussion here. If you want to talk, call me tomorrow."

"No. No, I'm almost done. Because as laughable as it is that you think it's _my_ fault Hook's not a nice daddy-"

"I didn't say that-"

"It's fucking hilarious that you think he's a good parent period. I remember what it's like in that house as a teenage boy, and you really think it's a safe place for a little girl to grow-"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!" Emma shrieked, her whole face turning red, from her throat up to the roots of her hair.

All eyes turned on her before she got all the words out. Bashful dropped a fork, the clatter on the floor the only sound in the thick, tense air ringing for an eeriely long, loud moment before there was utter silence again. Violet breathed in once, out, in again, out, in once more and then time slowly started to move again. The first person to move was Henry. The wounded look on his face gave him the appearance of a child for a moment, before it frosted over with grave disappointment and he shook his head.

"No. But I knew that."

Emma stiffened at the sudden attention, her shoulders tensing as they hunched inwards defensively. The glare she fixed Henry with would have been frightening if she hadn't just been screaming like a toddler that hadn't gotten their way, or if Henry hadn't been looking back at her with a face that read, _'You've hit rock bottom, and I won't help you up.'_ Tightening her mouth into a flat line, Emma stalked past him through the back of the diner, where Ruby had whisked Cleo and Lydia away.

Henry let go of Oliver and made to go after her, but Violet was faster. She caught his arm and shook her head when he looked down at her. "Don't say something you don't mean Henry."

"I'm not-"

"Then don't say something you can't take back, either. Please."

Henry ground his teeth, but allowed Violet to lead him to the table Gold was still sitting at. He didn't fight her. As pissed off as his expression told her he still was, inside. Especially at the moment, Violet's opinion couldn't be lower of Emma Jones, but at the same time she didn't want Henry to do something he would regret. There would be another time and place to call his mother out, but not now when the tension was still so thick in the air you could taste it.

Belle and her father were locked in a silent staring contest until Oliver hesitated to sit. Then Belle looked away, ignoring Mr. French, and wrapping her arm defensively, and more than a little comfortingly, around Oliver's shoulders.

"Come on. Let's go somewhere else, somewhere _quiet_." Her kind tone was entirely at odds with the steely glare she delivered to Mr. French, who backed away with a scowl, returning to his table.

Violet privately thought that might be best. The lighthearted feeling she'd had when they entered the diner was thoroughly spoiled. In more ways than one...

Gold's hand shook before he grabbed his cane. He was slow getting to his feet, and wouldn't look up to meet anyone's eyes when Belle suggested they go check if Chien Po's, a Chinese restaurant that was the only other takeout place in Storybrooke, was open. He nodded once when Henry asked if Gold would rather sit at the library for a minute. He _hadn't_ asked to go home, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Belle scurried ahead to get the heating cranked up in her apartment, and Oliver stayed close to his father's side as they crossed the street. Henry and Violet would do the checking. Once they got in the car, though, Henry slumped forward until his forehead bumped the steering wheel.

"Jesus fucking Christ and god _fucking_ damn it all..."

Violet reached over, putting a hand on his back and rubbing a little circle there until he lifted his head up, taking a deep breath as he leaned back against the seat. He looked at her with tired eyes, and reached for the hand now on his shoulder, kissing the back of her hand.

"My mom's fucking crazy, isn't she? That's the only option. She's fucking nuts and doesn't see how fucking terrible her shithead husband is, right?"

"I'm not sure if that's the only option, but it sure feels like it." Violet winced. "I'm sorry Henry, I'm so sorry."

He sighed, playing with her fingers. "It's not like you did anything wrong...god...I can't help her. I just can't."

"We could try-"

"No, I mean I literally cannot help her," Henry shook his head, his eyes showing resignation and more disappointment. "She doesn't want help. She doesn't see how-She doesn't get how she's-It's like she doesn't even realize-"

"She isn't Emma anymore?"

"Yes!" Henry brought their joined hands to rest on the Cadillac's console between them, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free fingers. "Oh my god. How freaking blind am I that I didn't see it before it got this far? I should have told her that pirate was bad news when she was all giddy about getting engaged to his dead ass. She thought it was so damned funny that he proposed while they were drunk as hell and she couldn't remember anything the next morning...do you know he didn't have a job until she pinned that badge on him? Either he made money gambling, or he just sponged off her or my grandparents. The _noble_ ones. God!"

"This isn't your fault Henry," Violet assured. "You wanted your mom to be happy. And you were thirteen. Would your mom really have listened to you if you said, 'Don't marry his dead ass?' at the time?"

He went quiet for a long moment. Then, Henry looked at her. Just out the corner of his eye, at first. Then he turned towards her, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I can't deal with Mom right now. But I'll talk to her eventually...when I'm less pissed off. Thanks for stopping me from saying something...rough."

"I figured you wouldn't like that." Violet smiled. "Now, enough about that. How about we get something to eat?"

"I love you, you have the best ideas." Henry grinned, relaxing a bit. He put the car in gear after they'd buckled and adjusted the heater, and together they drove off down the cold streets. And neither said a word about the hint of yellow paint and red taillights they glimpsed in the rearview mirror going the other way...

* * *

Oliver hadn't been able to pay attention in the diner. Behind him, Moe was being a royal ass, and Mama wasn't having it. She'd even defended Papa, and as badly as Oliver wanted to watch, in front of him, Emma was trying to ignore how Hook was in the wrong, and Henry wasn't having that. Ruby had whisked Cleo and Lydia out, so they were the safest of all. Mama's fight ended when Emma shrieked 'This isn't about you!' and all eyes turned to her, and then she slunk away. But no before she'd ruined their dinner out.

It had been ages since Oliver had eaten at the same table as both his parents in Granny's Diner. It had been eons since they were both really happy, too, and for a little while things were nice. Maybe not "fixed" by definitely nice. Though it was probably always nice when your parents weren't at odds...

Mama was checking her phone for messages she might've gotten in her bedroom. She had the heat cranked up, but the floor was chilly so he kept his socks on while he sat by Papa on the couch. Papa...didn't look so well.

Oliver had asked Archie some questions about depression. He didn't know too much about anxiety though. He did know, though, that Papa had beads of sweat on his forehead despite the temperature, and he was fidgeting with his cane anxiously. Maybe if they just sat kinda quietly for a bit, he'd calm down? Oliver drummed his fingers on his knee, wondering if there was anything more useful he could do. He couldn't remember if he'd left his knitting needles at Papa's or not. Did he bring them to Papa's, or had he left them in his room? Well, he wanted to make a blanket for Mama, he should probably start knitting more of those blocks for that...

So, he went into his bedroom to check. It was really, really cold in here right now, so Oliver looked through his drawers quick and checked the top of his dresser where he'd left some balls of yarn. (Why leave them out? Well they looked pretty, mostly.) But nope, he must've left them at Papa's.

Originally, there was just the main room, Mama's room, and the bathroom in the. There was this closet/pantry space, though, that didn't have a window but was still large enough that the dwarves had moved a wall three feet into Mama's room and popped in a little window, and it became Oliver's room. (At some point the apartment needed some work done, before Oliver was born.) He'd asked Mama once why his room was so tiny here, and she had explained it. But she'd looked kinda evasive...and Oliver suspected that he was never supposed to live long in this little room. Not 'cause he wasn't supposed to live, mind you, just...they were supposed to have a happily ever after. At Papa's house.

Where his knitting needles were...damn it. Oh well.

Plans thwarted, Oliver went for the door. In the living room, though, he heard Mama's voice say, "If I have to face one more member of the Charming Family this week I may have to turn someone into a toad."

There was a tiny little hallway from the main room, the bathroom was on one side, bedrooms on the other. Oliver's room was closer to the front, so that when he cracked the door open and peeked out, he could see Mama pacing back and forth out there. And the back of Papa's head, sorta, where he was sitting on the couch.

"Weeks without contact from her, and now Snow's left about six messages, four in texts and two in voicemails," Mama huffed, her arms crossed as she walked. "Principal Hornsby left one that was much better though. He asked us to come to the school and discuss how we're going to keep Neal from pushing Oliver into any more accidents. To hear Snow tell it, though, what she wants us to do is just forgive and forget, and I refuse to do either. Or at least, I won't forgive until that spoiled little princeling gives everyone a proper apology, especially Oliver."

Wow. Mama was really furious. It wasn't that Oliver liked seeing other kids in trouble, but this was Neal, so he let himself smile a little bit. Maybe things would turn out okay after all...Papa was still quiet, though. If he didn't react to Mama wishing to turn the Charmings into toads, then he was really in a not-so-great place...

Mama noticed. She stopped pacing and looked at him, and Oliver could see her face. She gave Papa this worried look, took just a step forwards, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it'll be alright. We've handled Snow's prejudice against magic powers before. Remember the thing she tried to stir up after the mines that had her go on vacation for two weeks?"

Papa flinched when she touched him, so Mama stepped back fast. He shook his head, scooting over so that it was harder to see him without opening the door wider, but giving Mama a place to sit. Now Oliver couldn't see her face, though, but he knew they were both sitting there.

"I...know that. I know that. I'm just...i-it's...it's nothing, I'm fine."

"No, you aren't." Mama said exactly what Oliver was thinking. "What's wrong?"

Papa was quiet for a long time. One second. Two. Three. Four...five...six...

"Did you mean it? What you said...did you mean that?"

"That we can handle Snow? Of course I did."

"No. No, wh-what you said...earlier. In the diner?"

There was a long silence, Oliver saw Mama shift on the sofa, and risked opening his door just a little more since they couldn't see him from here. He saw Papa sitting with the same drooped head, his shoulders moving like he was still messing with his cane. Mama was very still, until she looked away from him.

"To my father, you mean? About what...or all of it?"

Papa hesitated. "All of it. Aye."

"Ah..." Mama cleared her throat, shifting on the sofa again. "Well...yes. I meant it. All of it."

"That I failed you? That I've hurt you? But you still want me on your side in this?"

Mama sighed softly, Oliver had to strain his ears to hear it. "You're the strongest ally I've ever had Rumple. You always were. And you are...you're an amazing father, the best I could ever ask for Oliver. I'm not...I never should have shut you out of...of his life." Why that pause? "I can never apologize enough for that. But I won't make the same mistake again, especially not because Papa said to."

"You had a...falling out, I understand?"

"A bit...while you were in the hospital he...quite loudly disapproves of anything I do. With you. I'm starting to think it's everything though, and I feel stupid for realizing that now. The other stuff, though, the failures...maybe you haven't always been the best husband, but you're certainly not the worst either. You've still been an excellent father. And you _know_ magic. You're who Oliver needs in his life right now, not some hypocritical hero or a gatekeeping fairy to make him feel small, or monstrous."

"He's no monster." Papa agreed. "He's scared, but no monster. He's lucky."

"How so?"

"He has parents that love him unconditionally. Friends. Their parents. He has people there to keep him grounded, on the right path. He'll do better than I did whether I'm there or not."

It was quiet again for a long few seconds. Oliver saw Mama scoot the slightest bit towards Papa.

"This isn't you fault." She was really, really quiet now. "Oliver's magic? Evil isn't born, it's made. You said that. By cruelty and neglect and hate, fear, shame. He's no different than any other child at heart, he just has a gift with great potential. We'll do out best to put him on the right path, of course, but he won't be ruined just because you were a Dark One."

"No. But what if just being my child is a curse? I was a good father to Bae until I ruined _ _that__ with magic-"

" _ _That__ was ___different_. __ You can support Oliver, teach him. Bae didn't die because of you, or because he was your son-"

"Didn't he though?"

Mama was quiet for a long time. Everything was quiet for along time, long enough that Oliver almost slipped out his room when she suddenly said: "My father is an ignorant ass. Don't let him get to you, please don't give him that satisfaction," she begged. "Oliver needs you now, Henry needs his grandfather, and I...and I know you won't fail us."

Papa made a snorting sort of noise, almost a weak laugh. "How can you be so certain? Isn't that usually when I ruin everything with my darkness?"

"It's not the darkness. And I know because...because you don't fail me when I need you most. That's the truth. When I absolutely need you to be my hero...you are."

There was another beat of silence.

"You're your own hero, Belle. Your own remarkable hero."

Mama didn't get a chance to respond. Oliver accidentally leaned forwards, trying to hear if he was missing anything, and he accidentally pushed the door so that it creaked. Mama spun her head around and looked jumped up off the couch guiltily, before settling a bit when she saw it was just him.

"I...left my knitting needles at Papa's house." Oliver fibbed. "I can't find them."

"Oh...well. Ah, did you check your backpack?" Mama asked, nodding towards the door where he'd left it.

She even went to go and get it as Oliver carefully made his way forwards, feeling like he'd just witnessed something important but not being sure, exactly, what it was. His parents didn't talk like this. Ever. They chit-chatted and had the odd disagreement, but they didn't talk like this. It was almost mushy, yet also weirdly healthy-like. It was the kind of stuff you talked about in a session with Archie. That had to be a good thing, right?

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't quite had a panic attack. But he'd felt like he'd floated out of his head, unable to react or respond to anything, most of his brainpower obsessing over the words Moe French had spoken in cruelty that struck all the wrong, most sensitive nerves that were still raw even after his threeish years of therapy: He ruined everything he ever loved, it was his fault Oliver had these powers, he was destined to never be the right choice for his family and should just back out before someone got hurt.

French wasn't bright enough to know he chose just the wrong words, and Rumpelstiltskin could only hope he never put it all together. Otherwise he'd be tortured on all sides...

And then Belle was there beside him on the couch, saying the right words to soothe his ruffled feathers while scooting just a tiny bit closer. And closer.

Enough to rest a hand on his. Enough to squeeze it. Enough to make him want to sob like a distraught child, to lay his head on her lap, to wrap himself in her and never let go, to cling to her because she was so very strong and brave, and he was so very weak and scared.

She had come close enough that when her gaze moved over his face when he called her a hero, when her blue eyes seemed to linger on his mouth, he wanted to kiss her with utter devotion, to swear this time would be different. He'd be strong. He'd be good. He'd fight for her and their son, and not let dark powers lead him astray. He'd be as brave as she was, and not be afraid of failing because he refused to fail this time. He'd do anything for his family, but when Belle looked at him like that...

She defended him. Magnificently so, standing up in the middle of the diner and telling French his words were unacceptable and she wanted nothing to do with him. It was dizzying and wonderful, and Rumpelstiltskin still wouldn't doubt the possibility of this being some fevered dream yet. Belle wanted him on her side.

Then came the creaking of a door, and she leapt away as though burned. It reminded Rumpelstiltskin of the reality of her wanting him, though. _As an ally._ A friend, maybe, but always in his capacity as Oliver's father. She specifically said so, and after the hell they'd been through, it was too much to wish for more than that. He had encouraged her to move on personally, trying not to feel stabbing lances of jealousy and self-hatred whenever he spotted her stepping out with some fit, handsome man who had healthy, whole heart and mind. He could be content with...this. Whatever it was.

Henry and Violet came back soon with the food, preventing him from doing something stupid. Mostly he was just drained, though. Between this confusion and Moe's ugly reminders, the memory of Emma and Henry quarrelling, and the thought of facing down Snow White and possibly a bevy of parents that hated him, depending on the size of this meeting, Rumpelstiltskin just wanted to crawl into bed and let sleep claim him permanently. Even with the buzz of Belle softly saying he was her hero when she needed him most making him warm in places left frozen so long he forgot they were there.

He got a fair night's sleep regardless of emotional upheaval. And he felt clearer in the morning, too. One thing he did yesterday was to scheduled an appointment this afternoon to get a prescription for his medication again. Hopper had a trainee of sorts, a youngish fellow around thirty that had been in the first graduating class of Storybrooke High. He had some sort of medical training and could handle the milder cases or some evaluations when Hopper was over booked. He doubled as the middle school guidance counsellor if Hopper wasn't overly booked, but Rumpelstiltskin suspected that wasn't the case at the moment. Not with the Charmings demanding his services on short notice.

He'd had a rough night. But it wasn't the end of the world. He could keep moving forwards, he could still be there for his son and estranged wife in the capacity of father and ally. He could do that. He was getting better.

He _would_ get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be note that, as of yet, Belle doesn't know Moe narked to the Blue Fairy. Yet.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blue jellyfish in the waters...

Life had been a bit simpler as plain old Owl in The Hundred Acre Wood. His chief concern then was his house flying out the tree on a particularly blustery day. As Craig Hornsby, school principal, he had parents, students, and faculty to be worried about, (as well as the occasional town-wide curse that might blow his apartment building down,) and while he didn't mind the mental challenges from time to time...this was less a mental challenge and more of a balancing act.

On one side, some of the town's most prominent citizens had children embroiled in nothing short of a scandal. The sons of two royal couples had threatened the son of the Dark One, the daughter of the Wicked Witch and niece of the town mayor had dragged another boy of royal blood forwards who confessed the whole sordid tale. On the other hand, er, _side_ , Hornsby, (and most everyone, he imagined,) quite frankly, was tired of this ongoing feud between Neal Nolan and Oliver Gold. Or more specifically...

The Golds, in an unprecedented occurence, were running late. Not by much though. Everyone else was there sitting in Snow White's classroom though, the Hermans and the Briars and the Nolans and their sons, and Mayor Mills and her niece. (Either they settled this, or he'd have to get a bigger office.) And Hornsby didn't see much reason to wait for the Golds on this part. The first step would really be deciding on a punishment suitable for the crime...which to date, included something like accidental assault, lying to everyone, provoking Oliver, and lying some more. Hornsby was planning on the maximum days of suspension he could dish out. In all honesty, at this rate, Neal and Tommy were a danger to the rest of the fourth grade, not just the Dark One's son.

Phil Briars, for example. He looked like he was going to be sick, but, he had told the whole truth and nothing but the truth. All Phil knew was that his two friends were going to "play a trick" on Oliver, and he had been asked to set up a cover story. He hadn't known until Monday in the bathroom what really happened. And he was adamant that he had refused to join them in the "trick" because he didn't want to get in trouble. At least one of them was trying to reform after that scuffle in the mines...

Because Phil was mostly innocent, just cursed with poor taste in friends, Hornsby handed Mr. Briars a copy of Phil's last report card. "To start with, I think your son's grades have improved enough since he was held back that he might do better in the fifth grade."

"Move him up, you mean?" Mrs. Briars asked.

"Yes. Now, Phil is showing signs of improvement after these three were brought to book last month. He at least had the sense not to go throw snowballs at anyone. As for the other two, I'm suspending them for twenty days-"

"Twenty days!" Mrs. Herman's eyes widened. "Isn't that a little extreme? I mean...I mean no one was really hurt, and everything I've heard happened in the bathroom was really just...boys being boys, wasn't it? Things got a little too rough but doesn't that mean it was _supposed_ to."

"Yes, it was an accident. I agree there should be a suspension, but-" Snow began, and Hornsby sighed inwardly, holding up a hand to cut her off.

"Twenty days, and that's non-negotiable, Snow. At this point, I'm afraid of what these boys might do to other students now. It probably _was_ an accident that Mr. Gold was knocked down the stairs, but the fact remains that Neal and Tommy purposely went over for some kind of...revenge scheme, because Oliver slighted their pride-"

"That's not what happened!" Neal protested quickly. "It was just a prank!"

"Yeah!" Tommy agreed. "We didn't even mean to get Mr. Gold, we thought it was Oliver!"

The roll of Neal's eyes probably had a different meaning than the way Mayor Mills rolled her eyes, but Hornsby still had to agree a bit with both of them. Tommy needed to keep his mouth shut. And both boys should have known better. Hornsby liked to think the best of people. He liked to believe that the boys deserved a second chance, and that they meant no harm. But they'd been on their second chance when they did this, and honestly a third chance now wouldn't do them much good. Was it the third chance? Or the fourth now? It was troubling that he couldn't tell.

The door swung open then. Roughly eight minutes late, Mr. Gold and Oliver came in and took seats by the mayor in the back row. Oliver was wearing a black-and-red checkered shirt and black trousers, and had a large, ugly bruise decorating his cheek. Under his overcoat, Mr. Gold was dressed in a black wool suit, a navy shirt and silver tie, nodding politely to Hornsby at the head of the room.

"I'm sorry for the delay." Gold explained as he sat down. "Belle should be along shortly. Have we missed anything?"

"Twenty days suspension for Tommy Herman and Neal Nolan, for a start." Hornsby reported. He wasn't sure if that would be good enough for Mr. Gold though...whether because of the personal injuries, or the threat it posed to his child.

"Mm." Was the neutral response as the former Dark One settled in for the rest of the meeting.

Despite the mark on Oliver's face, Mr. Gold seemed oddly well. Hornsby had heard that he'd had a concussion, and a badly sprained ankle, but nothing seemed to impair him more than his usual limp. Some of the other parents seemed to pick up on that, too. And Mr. Herman even went so far as to lift an eyebrow and say aloud, "You're looking well, Mr. Gold."

"Thank you Mr. Herman." Gold replied blandly, not even looking at them directly. "Despite your son's excellent aim, I am quite well. Though not without the hospital records to prove my injuries were quite real, and recorded."

Hornsby firmly believed in the Golden Rule, treating others as one wished to be treated. (And as he liked having opposable thumbs, Hornsby tried treating Mr. Gold in a manner that said, _"I'm quite neutral towards you so I shan't revert you into an owl."_ ) Mrs. Herman seemed to carry a chip on her shoulder, though, and never missed an opportunity to take a jab at Gold. Granted town gossip said that she'd been a pawn in his schemes once upon a time, but...

"Is that a threat?" she narrowed her eyes at Gold, lips pursed. "Your son could have killed someone, and you have the gall to-"

"To remind you that I have proof of young Mr. Herman's transgressions whereas you have hearsay and petty grudges against Oliver?" Gold replied bluntly, looking none-to-impressed until the blonde mother shrank back. "Mrs. Herman, I don't believe for one moment your son and Neal Nolan could have _possibly_ planned my murder between them, and I'm quite willing to forgive them for the accident. Except they weren't playing a trick on _me_ , they were aiming for my son."

"It was because we laughed at Tommy last Friday." Robbi piped up. When all eyes turned to her, her own blue eyes dropped down to her knees and a nervousness creeped into her small voice. "Um...h-he was making fun of Oliver, 'cause he was knitting? H-he said something...something mean, l-like Oliver was a girl or something? I don't remember that exactly, just, um, just that he got mad when we laughed at him over something Opal and Oliver said when they weren't hurt."

Mayor Mills raised an eyebrow, glancing at the Hermans and the Nolans, respectively. Or rather, the boys sitting with their parents.

"I don't supposed you played any tricks on Opal, did you?"

Most damningly of all the reactions they could have had, Neal and Tommy didn't say anything. They just _squirmed_.

Oliver scowled, almost rising from his seat. Hornsby couldn't disagree. He adjusted his glasses, leaning forwards on his elbows, shifting his gaze from one boy to the next. Phil looked clueless. Neal and Tommy were still squirming uncomfortably, not looking at anyone.

"Boys." Hornsby frowned deeply. "Did you plan to do anything to Miss Beck? Answer the question."

"Beck?" Robbi repeated.

"No...we didn't do anything to Opal," Neal answered slowly. "We were just gonna throw snowballs at Oliver. That's it. We weren't gonna throw anything at Opal."

Oliver snorted, sinking back in his chair with crossed arms. "Yeah. 'Cause she'd beat the crap out of you..."

"Excuse me," David Nolan stood up. "I'd like to make a proposition. Neal and Tommy didn't mean to do any harm. I think we all agree on that-"

" _I_   don't." Mayor Mills muttered, and Mr. Gold's face was a passive mask.

"-But their trick went so wrong, that I think they should face consequences. _Serious_ ones." Nolan glanced down at the top of his son's head. "Just to drive the lesson home. I don't want anyone else getting accidentally hurt, because today it was okay, but I don't want there to be a next time."

Snow hesitated a moment, then gave a nod so slight Hornsby nearly missed it. Maybe she wasn't agreeing outloud, yet, but some part of her saw the sense in what her husband was saying. Mr. Briars tapped his fingers on his knee, quiet for a moment. He seemed to mull over Nolan's thoughts before he spoke.

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

"I'm not sure about Mr. Gold's feelings on the matter, but I think jailtime would be a bit extreme. During the twenty days they're suspended, I think giving them some kind of community service might be better than confinement. For the past few weeks, we'd kept a close eye on Neal, kept him at home, and that just taught him to go behind our backs at the first opportunity."

Neal shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his mother. Snow however, didn't look displeased with the idea. It was possible she and her husband had already talked this idea over, but, Nolan continued explaining his idea to the rest of the room. If this was what the parents, specifically the Nolans and Hermans, agreed to do, they could work out the details between themselves. The gist of it all was to give the boys a sense of responsibility, at best. At worst, they'd have the threat of labor hanging over their heads the next time they decided to get revenge for slights to their pride.

Phil Briars was exempt because he was _mostly_ innocent. At one point Neal and Tommy both tried to say Phil knew where they were going and he didn't stop them, but Mr. Gold seemed disinclined to agree. He was, in a sense, pressing charges against the boys for assault. Phil's only crime, again, was bad taste in friends. He might do better in the fifth grade, Hornsby was confident that was the right choice for him.

Speaking of Mr. Gold...

Gold kept glancing at the door. By the time Nolan had sat back down and he and the other parents began hashing out what should pass for community service, Hornsby realized it had been ten minutes since Gold and Oliver arrived, but Belle hadn't come in yet. He must've been looking for her...and come to think of it, Hornsby didn't know what was taking her so long. Belle seemed eager to weigh in on this meeting. She certainly had a right to, being Oliver's mother.

Hmm...

Hornsby decided to wait until they hashed out the community service sentencing to ask about that. After this, they needed to talk about what sort of measures were being taken to keep Oliver from having anymore accidents. Gold had lost his powers, but perhaps he could still give his son a pointer or two? Oliver had always been a quiet child unless someone was provoking him or his friends, his behavior wasn't a problem. Not like the other boys here...

Despite the good impression Snow had been making so far, by the time it was loosely agreed that Neal and Tommy would be helping out at the sheriff's station and assisting with the set up of the Heritage Day Festival, she seemed through with that subject. And she, too, glanced towards the door, then at Hornsby himself, and said, "If that's settled, Principal Hornsby, I'd like to talk about Oliver, please."

And right on cue, the door opened.

* * *

Henry had given everyone a ride over to the school. He would be waiting in the parking lot, because he wanted to talk to his maternal grandparents about Emma. Maybe they had some trouble with Neal, but Henry had Gold to keep an eye on. And with them and Regina working on Emma, maybe they'd manage to snap her out of whatever fog she was lost in.

He fully intended to wait in the lobby. He would wait in the car, but it was _cold_ outside. So he followed them in a ways, until two things happened. One, Belle realized she'd left her purse in the car. Not that that was much of an issue, but, she wanted to write what was being said down, and take notes. She sent Gold and Oliver on ahead with a little embarrassed smile since they were already running late because of a detour caused by a downed limb on the way over from Gold's, and Henry went with her since he had the car keys. And also, Belle had put on a pair of heels to give her some extra height, which worked fine for being taken seriously, but, were also hazards on the stairs.

He gave her his arm going down the steps outside again, since he had good manners and wouldn't let her cling to the handrail up and down. While she was pulling her notebook out of her purse and tucking it into her coat pocket, a van pulled into the parking lot. Two women dressed in clothes from St. Meissa's hopped out. One was a blonde. The other was a bitch.

Who the hell called the Blue Fairy in?

Belle seemed to be thinking the same thing. They cut her off at the stairs, and Henry watched as Belle put on one of her sunny, disarming smiles. "Hello Blue. What brings you here?"

(Henry made a note to be afraid if Belle was using that oh-so-chipper tone of voice and that wide smile with him...)

"Hello Belle," the Blue Fairy said serenely. "I imagine I'm here for the same reason you are. To help your son stay safe."

"Oh?"

Blue pursed her lips just the slightest bit. "Isn't that what this meeting is about? That's what I was told."

Belle's smile didn't waver. "Is it? Well, what _I_   was told was that this was a discussion about disciplining Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman. They tried to attack Oliver Saturday morning, when he was at his father's house. Rumple is well on the mend by now of course, but that was more luck than anything. What if it had been Oliver? Or what if they'd gone after Opal?"

"Indeed. That _would_ be a tragic accident. But they are just children," the head fairy flicked her wrist lightly, as if brushing away the subject entirely. "A misfired prank is really the least of my concerns with this incident. That could be fixed with a bit of discipline. What Oliver can do is a bit more...complex. Don't you agree?"

Henry glanced over at the blonde fairy. She was a bit taller than a barefoot Belle, and chubby. He could probably take her out or hold her down in case Belle went medieval on Blue's ass here and now. He could almost see his step-grandmother thinking about it herself, but her expression remained pleasant. "I don't follow," she demurred. "What's so difficult about Oliver's situation?"

The Blue Fairy made a soft sound that grated on Henry's nerves when combined with that pitying look on her face. "My dear, that child is a clever, bright boy, I know. He's your son in every way. But, he's also the son of the Dark One, and none of them has ever sired a child before. There's no telling what he could be capable of if left unchecked now."

Somehow, in the span of thirty seconds, she had insulted Gold, possibly Belle, and made Oliver sound like either an accidental experiment in animal husbandry or a an STD. Henry would be impressed, if he didn't feel personally insulted himself but the oh-so-benevolent Rheul Gorm's backhanded hypocrisy. _Left unchecked_ indeed...the only person she'd want to keep him in check was herself, and that wasn't even an option.

"I appreciate the offer Blue," Belle said sweetly, shaking her head a bit. "But that's not necessary. See, we had arranged for Regina to give Oliver a hand already. And since she did such a good job helping Emma with her magic when she was starting out...y'know. She taught the Savior, who better to keep Oliver on the right path?"

A nasty, thin smile twisted Blue's mouth. "The reformed Evil Queen, you mean? I suppose she isn't a bad choice. But she's still practiced in darker arts. It would be better for Oliver to have exposure to only light magic during his formative learning stages, to blot out any bad influences. Do we even know if he's inherited part of the Dark One's curse or not?"

Henry couldn't bite back the words anymore: "Oh come on! You can't be serious. This is a nine-year-old kid who's worst habits are not talking about his feelings and putting ketchup on steak."

Blue's fake smile melted away. Henry knew she didn't like being questioned, but, he also didn't care, because her bad attitude might get Oliver hurt. _Would_ get _someone_ hurt, at the very least. Not that the Blue Fairy in her sparkling tower of judgement gave a damn about that, so long as she got her way in the end. She looked him up and down with so much scorn that Henry almost regretted opening his mouth. Almost.

"Henry, I never said Oliver was at fault-"

"No but you sure implied his father was, and that's close enough for me." Maybe Henry was being shorter of temper than he usually was, but he was tired physically, tired emotionally, and sick to death of people that still looked at him as a starry-eyed ten-year-old that didn't have a clue about how life worked. He was twenty-three. And as an honest Author, he knew that the only selfless thing Blue had done in recorded history was help Snow White and Prince Charming capture the Evil Queen...and even now Henry had his doubts about that.

If the Blue Fairy's lips pinched any tighter, she'd pull a muscle in her face. She seemed to ignore him after that, turning to Belle, then. "Any fairy worth her wand would never harm a child. We simply are not capable of dark deeds. I only want to see he learns to use his gifts properly, without endangering anyone. Himself or others. Yesterday he broke a child's arm, what could happen the next time he loses his temper? Surely you, of all people, know the importance of choosing light over darkness. I can help him with that."

Belle froze for a moment. Henry had a horrible vision in that one moment.

He saw Belle hesitating, leaving Blue an opening. She hit upon almost all her weaknesses in one go: The battles of good and evil, fear of losing her loved ones to darkness, Oliver hurting someone whether it was an accident or not. And Belle crumbled. She stepped aside and let Blue have her say, have her way, brushing aside Gold's input on the matter. They'd fight again, break apart. Oliver was left to the mercy of the Blue Fairy and whatever the Charming Family agreed to, cloistered away in the convent and studied like an ugly little specimen. One fourth fairy, one half Dark One, all unnatural and unwanted in the eyes of Rheul Gorm. The judge, jury, and executioner of a child at the crossroads, granted the power at this very moment...

"No."

Henry, the blonde minion-fairy, and Blue all did a bit of a double-take.

"Really?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Belle swallowed thickly, standing up just a bit straighter. "No. Thank you for offering your help, Blue, but I feel far more comfortable with Regina teaching Oliver. She has faced consequences for irresponsible magic use, she knows the risks, she trained Emma-"

"Emma is the _Savior_ ," the Blue Fairy stressed, and that seemed to be the only thing she picked up on. "Her heart is naturally pure. The product of True Love, born to two pure-hearted heroes, to save a kingdom from the curse to end all curses. Emma knew we were busy trying to concoct a way to stop the Snow Queen's curse, she couldn't have come to us at that time. Regina was the next best choice."

"I don't care!" Belle snapped. "I was there helping you _concoct_ , in case you forgot that. And you weren't busy when Emma was struggling before that. I don't trust you, honestly, to treat my son properly even if you wouldn't physically hurt him. Why are you even here, who invited you?"

Henry practically saw Blue's nose go up in the air as she gathered her arrogance around her like a cloak. "I am here to discuss methods of protecting students from anymore accidents, such as Monday. And I was invited by Snow White at my request, once your own father informed me of the severity of the situation."

It wasn't surprising, really, that Snow had authorized Blue to come. Snow had never suffered at the hands of the Blue Fairy's holier-than-thou decisions. Even when she didn't know the magic wardrobe could transport two, she'd gotten angry at Marco instead of Blue. And, Henry found he wasn't greatly surprised that Moe had narked either. He wasn't sure how he'd heard about the school if he and Belle weren't on speaking terms, but, still, unsurprising that Moe French would take this opportunity to go out and paint the worst picture possible to the worst person possible-

Oh...

Belle had gone very still, and very quiet. Henry couldn't describe the look on her face, but it was not a happy one. It was...betrayed, hurt, lost, confused...and then it all solidified into something familiar. _Determination_.

Spinning on her heel without another word, Belle marched up the steps. Henry hurried after her because she seemed to forget about her hazardous footwear, but once he got her to the top of the stairs, she shook him off.

"Start the car Henry." She ordered, stomping into the school without looking over her shoulder.

Huh...

The Blue Fairy and her minion seemed stunned, but, Blue snapped out of it first and hurried up the steps. (Henry didn't offer her his arm.) She ran past him into the school, but, Henry didn't think Belle needed him to stop her. Actually...

Henry got to the bottom of the steps again, and nodded politely to the plump blonde fairy. She seemed spooked by his gesture, and he felt himself smirking. Just a little bit. He didn't hate fairies quite like Gold and Regina did, (Astrid and Tink were big exceptions since they'd escaped Blue's cult of hypocrisy,) and he didn't really wish any of them harm. It wasn't their fault they'd been brought up to look to the Blue Fairy as their overlord and master.

"Maybe you should warm up that van," he suggested, climbing into the Cadillac.

* * *

Belle could hear another set of shoes clacking down the hall behind her. The Blue Fairy probably. She didn't care. Her legs may be short, but they were moving quickly, and they knew the way to the fourth grade classroom without her needing to waste any energy thinking about it. All her energy was tied up in emotions.

Her father had gone to the Blue Fairy.

_Her father had gone to the Blue Fairy._

_Her father had gone to the Blue Fairy,_ behind her back, not even bothering to ask Belle if she was okay or for her version of events, and Belle didn't know how he even knew what had happened but she was a little surprised that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had gone straight over her head and tattled to Rumple's biggest detractor, and all Blue wanted was to get free reign to do whatever she wanted to Oliver because he had magic.

Simply _mad_ didn't even begin to cover it.

She flung the door open just as the fairy leader was calling for her. She felt a hand land on her elbow, but Belle shook it off as she stepped inside the room. Hornsby was at Snow's desk. Snow was seated at the arranged seats, Neal set between her and David. On the other side of them was the Hermans, seated in the front row apart from the other two boys with good reason was Phil and his parents. Regina had taken a spot in the back row with Robbi, and that was where Rumple and Oliver had taken a seat. She took all of that in with a single glance, and Rumple had half stood from his chair at her entrance. Everyone looked a bit startled really.

"Belle..." Snow said slowly, almost like she had to speak softly or risk upsetting her. Which ironically did upset Belle.

She settled her gaze on Snow, who stood up as Belle walked towards her. Blue was in the room now, too. Before that-That-That gnat could get a word in edgewise, Belle attacked the elephant in the room:

"Did you invite her?"

"What?" Snow blinked.

"Did you," Belle stopped an arm's length away from the so-called fairest of them all. "Invite her?"

Snow blinked again, looking like a kitten that had taken a tumble. That grated Belle's nerves too. "Blue? Oh. Well she said-"

"Did you invite her, or not?"

"I...did. I said she could come."

"Ah, Snow..." Hornsby said from behind Belle, sounding perterbed. He was a good man, blustery and half-illiterate, but good. He cared about his students, not the political climate set by the town heroes or the former royals. "Why wasn't I told about this?"

Good. So _this_ wasn't planned by everyone here. That was good, too.

Out the corner of her eye, Belle could see David frowning. She would dwell on that later, right now she had to set the record straight with his ignorant, shallow, hypocritical other half.

"Did you ask her here so she could teach Oliver, or to protect everyone else from _him_?"

That Snow White looked more than a little hurt by the accusation almost had Belle back-pedaling. Maybe she was overreacting here...maybe she was being too harsh, or seeing things from the worst possible light. Maybe she should be more understanding, since Snow was a teacher at this school and surely had the other students to think of.

"No, Belle, please. You have to understand. I would never hurt your son," Snow promised... "I just thought it would be best to talk to Blue. Just to try and get things under control as soon as possible."

Instincts went at war inside Belle's heart. She wanted to believe Snow. She wanted to punch her. She wanted to trust Snow meant well. She wanted to scream she knew nothing. The first instinct was the one that thought of Snow as her friend, the part of her that believed in good triumphing over evil, the part that trusted the reputation of Snow White as a paragon of virtue and a hero. The second instinct was the one that was her bravery, the part of her that believed in doing the right thing even if it hurt, the part that had walked out on Snow White when her team was advocating to leave Rumple to die without a second thought. And then came the strongest of her instincts.

The part that understood at that moment why Rumple had so blindly grabbed for the power of the Dark One when he thought it was his last chance to save his first son from being shoved in front of an Ogre to be trampled, eaten, or crushed. She'd set the town itself on fire to keep these ignorant fools from hurting Oliver, and while that wouldn't be necessary today, she wasn't going to sit idly by while Snow walked all over her.

Not this time.

"Regina. Are we still on for Friday?"

Regina looked around for a moment, like she wasn't sure Belle was actually speaking to her. Then she nodded slowly. "Yes...of course...why?"

"I'm just checking." Belle turned back to Snow with a calm she didn't quite feel on the inside. "Rumple and I were proactive with our son. We have lessons scheduled with Regina starting this very Friday, as of _last week_ I might add, to teach our children how to control themselves. The Blue Fairy's assistance is not required."

Snow blinked. "Oh. That's...that's good to know. Good. But...but wouldn't it still be a good idea to just sort of...sort of see what kind of saftey precautions we should take? Just in case?"

"In case what? Another accident?"

"Well, yes. I mean that's not so unreasonable if you think about it. We have fire drills, a hurricane drill, some precautions for freak blizzards-Not that Oliver is a natural disaster!" Oh good, now Snow as nervous and embarrassed. A detached part of Belle was almost amused by that. "But maybe if other kids start developing powers, we should be ready for it."

"Snow..." David sounded like he was about to warn his wife to sit down, and possibly shut up, but then Tommy Herman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like sending Oliver to school in a straight-jacket might help, and even though his mother hushed him, (her face red with embarrassment, not correcting him so much as telling him not to show how little they gave a damn in public,) that was quite enough.

Hornsby was watching everyone like he wasn't sure where to start intervening, Sean Herman looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, the whole Briars family looked like they wanted to jump out the nearest window. Rumple seemed to be contemplating using his cane over someone's head, and Regina looked like she wanted to fireball the nearest object. Robbi and Oliver were glaring at the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy and Neal were just staring at Belle and Snow like they expected a fight to happen any moment. Well...they might not be wrong at all.

The Blue Fairy had the nerve, then, to clear her throat and try to get everyone's attention on her. Belle wondered if she was upset that no one had spoken to her yet.

"I don't think a great deal of magical precautions are needed," she said in a manner that was probably supposed to be placating, but just made Belle wind up tighter still. "I think just wearing one of Pan's cuffs would do. One for Oliver, perhaps one for Garrick Booth as well-"

"Are you completely inhumane, or just full of shit?" Regina blurted out, looking horrified. "You might as well hang a sign around their necks that reads 'DANGEROUS' and throw stones at them!"

"It's nothing so dramatic." The Blue Fairy chided, as if speaking to a child. "The cuffs supress magic, and that is what you want, isn't it? Their undeveloped powers to be controlled. That is the most effective way to do it."

"No. It's the _drastic_ way to do it. The only people who should be wearing that cuff are prisoners, people who want to hurt others."

"Like Zelena. Who was, you of all people are aware, mothered by a powerful and wicked woman with great magic." Blue sounded so confident and well-informed, even if Belle knew that was a gross oversimplification and twisting of facts, that it was no surprise the Hermans looked thoughtful. The Briars just looked uncomfortable. Belle sympathized only with the look of smoldering rage on Regina's face right now. "There is a saying that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, is there not? It's a small price to pay for the saftey of dozens of children, for two or three to wear a magical bracelet for a few hours a day."

Belle felt nauseous when Snow looked to her, all hopeful and expectant. She was supposed to consent to this. To shackling her son. They expected her to agree because it was the "safest" option, but they overlooked the true price to pay would be subtly reminding any child to be unlucky enough to develop magic afterwards that they were probably a danger to society and couldn't be trusted. It was insane.

"We're leaving." Belle snapped. "Right now."

"Then we'll need-What?" Snow blinked. "You're-You can't just leave."

 _'Fucking watch me...'_   "Oliver, Rumple," Belle looked towards them, and they were both on their feet already. "We're leaving. Now."

"I'm behind you," Regina announced, putting a protective arm around Robbi as she followed suit. Robbi was a bit pale, but remarkably together, even if she wasn't looking anyone in the eye. "This is dehumanizing, I won't even act like there is a right or wrong choice here."

"Okay," David held his hands up. "I think we just need to leave the kids with magic to the parents-" and _that_ was so clearly aimed at Snow and Blue even they couldn't miss it...probably, "-and stay on topic here. This was about the good of the student body, Neal, Tommy, and Phil's behavior and Oliver's new powers. Right?"

"Yes, yes, that's quite right," Hornsby nodded. And Belle almost stayed put, Rumple and Oliver just passing Snow, barely an arm's length behind Belle herself then. "We've decided on twenty days of community service while under suspension for Neal and Tommy, Phil will be moved up to the fifth grade effective next Monday, er, _this_ Monday I should say. And if Oliver is getting some training, then, I think that's everything and this meeting has been a success. Let's end it on a positive note here. Please?"

He was begging. And Belle sympathized. If they could just leave well enough alone, for today, then it would be enough. Oliver was getting training. Neal and Tommy were being punished. Phil was being separated from the bad apples he'd gotten too chummy with. It was all good.

The Blue Fairy didn't agree.

"Principal Hornsby, for the saftey of the student body, we must take action. If Oliver is getting help once a week, perhaps he should be given a leave from school until he's in control."

Rumple squeezed the handle of his cane tightly, and Belle silently thanked him for his grip on Oliver's shoulder, too. "Leave it to a religious fairy matriarch to be void of compassionate understanding..." he muttered, before speaking up. "We are done here, good day."

He was leading the way out then. Regina and Robbi behind him, Oliver at his side. Belle was bringing up the rear, and she heard some other people shifting around to leave. Probably the Briars. They looked ready to bolt as soon as Snow opened her big mouth-

"Belle, Belle wait." A hand landed on her shoulder with just enough pressure to make her stop and turn. Snow's face, the picture of concern and sympathy, met her. "We're just thinking about everyone's saftey. I _know_ Oliver wouldn't hurt anyone, but after the mines, and then Monday...well, you don't have to make a decision now. Just think about it."

Belle had thought about it. She'd thought about it until she felt sick. She thought about it until her head felt dizzy and her skin prickled with discomfort. She thought about it until dozens of words rang in her ears with wildly conflicting messages. She thought and thought and thought it through, this whole time, since the moment the Blue Fairy used the mention of Belle's own father like a magic word to get her to give this horrifying idea her stamp of approval. And none of it made sense, and Belle agreed with none of it. And then, she did do something she had been thinking about earlier...

She reared back and punched Snow White square in the jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snow has been punched in the face, and is gonna get punched some more. No need to form a line for that...the line for the Blue Fairy starts over *here* if you'd like to get in on that, however.
> 
> I AM RIDICULOUSLY BEHIND ON MY RCIJ PROJECT. If you don't see an update for next week, it's because I'm an irresponsible Santa playing catch-up, not because this story got abandoned. You have been warned. ':/


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, warning! We have a Hook and Emma scene in here. It's not violent or graphic, it's largely suggested actually at the end of Emma's POV, but it might give you the willies or a bad case of "NO EMMA NO", so keep an eye out for that and skip if it bothers you?
> 
> (God I hate this man...)

Oliver had an appointment today with Archie. Mama had one before him, Papa had one with somebody that worked with Archie. And they'd all gone down to the school to see what was going to be done about Neal and Tommy. Personally, Oliver had visions of them in black-and-white stripes chipping away at a rock pile, or sulking behind the bars in the sheriff's station. (Granted the second option was more realistic than the first, but still, he could dream.)

Twenty days of community service pitching in at the short-staffed sheriff's station and helping set up the Heritage Day Festival seemed mild for what Papa had categorized as assault. (Papa said that applying the right charges was the key to making any stick, there was a world of difference between _murder_ and _manslaughter_ , and sometimes the most dramatic options were the least effective...he had a curse-given law degree so Oliver guessed he knew what he was on about.) Still, they looked miserable with it, they wouldn't just be sitting at home watching TV, and maybe the threat of work would make them a little more leery about being jackasses in the future. Maybe.

And then Mama came in, looking kind of calm, but also kind of mad. Oliver usually only saw that look on her face when she was trying to hide she was upset at Moe, sometimes Papa, but when the Blue Fairy slithered in behind her it made more sense. Well, not why the Blue Fairy was there. She was bad news though, Oliver knew that.

Then Mama said they were leaving, and Papa had Oliver walking away. Robbi and her aunt were following suit when Oliver heard Mrs. Nolan say something to Mama.

And then Mama punched her in the face.

What happened next was a bit...busy. Everyone was talking loudly at once, Mrs. Nolan squawked, and Mama shouted _"worry less about my son and more about yours!"_ and Mr. Nolan was telling everyone to calm down. In the history of humanity, had telling someone to calm down ever actually worked? It was a nice thought at least.

Oliver couldn't see it so well. Papa had pushed him back, away from the door, and then Robbi was pushed in front of him by her aunt. All he could see was curly blonde hair, until he hopped to the side and stood up on his toes. He'd never seen Mama hit anyone before. Not even push them, and the same went for Mrs. Nolan. He kinda wanted to see them duke it out just to see which Disney Princess would win, but it looked like the only one to land a punch had been Mama.

Papa had an arm around her, pulling her back while she and Mrs. Nolan were still yelling back and forth too shrill for him to understand. Regina reached out and squeezed between them in an attempt to make it stop, and Mr. Nolan might've grabbed his own wife to keep her from stepping forwards, again. And somewhere in the classroom, Principal Hornsby shouted over everyone else: "EVERYBODY SHUT UP!

And they did.

It couldn't have lasted more than a minute or two, but it felt longer...

"Everybody out! The meeting is over!" Hornsby made a brusque shooing motion with his hands, annoyance plain on his face. "Snow? You're back on suspension from teaching."

"What?" Mrs. Nolan squeaked.

"What? _What_?" Hornsby spluttered. "What do you mean 'what'? You just steamrolled over your own son's very real, very current, very ill behavior to advocate dehumanizing children for imaginary problems!"

"But-"

"I don't want to hear another word! Putting Pan's cuffs on children-Why I never! I don't know if Oliver's magic put everyone to sleep in the mines or what, but I _do_ know Neal was being a pushy little racist to one girl and a possessive little toff to another! And he and Tommy were willing to do bodily harm to another child because he threatened to expose them as cruel and malicious persons, and yet you have the gall to call _Oliver_ a dangerous boy? You have been demoted to a teacher's aide, and Mr. Whitney is the fourth grade teacher, until further notice. Do I make myself clear?"

Oliver could see Mrs. Nolan looked like she'd been smacked in the face again, but Mama and Papa were walking away now. And truthfully, Oliver was a little...a little eager to leave, too. Before another fight got started. Quit while you're ahead, and all that.

"Opal Beck?"

"Huh?" Oliver looked beside him at Robbi, who was looking back at him questioningly. Oh. "Yeah. That's right."

"That's...weird."

"Really? That's what you took away from all of this? Opal has a weird last name?"

Robbi blinked. "No. But it's what I'm choosing to focus on for now until I don't feel nauseous."

Oliver wrinkled his nose. "That's a good idea."

Henry had the Cadillac running. There was a van from the convent parked out there, too, the exhaust fogging the air behind it. Regina put a hand on Robbi's shoulder and nudged her forwards. "Would you mind if Robbi rode back to town with you?" she asked Oliver's parents. "I have to talk to Snow and David."

"Oh, of course. We'll be at the library," Mama nodded, giving Robbi a quick little smile. "How do you feel about lunch?"

Robbi shrugged, climbing into the backseat with her and Oliver. Regina waved them off and went back inside, and Henry glanced at everyone with upraised eyebrows. Especially at Mama, who had her hair messed up and her face was still red with anger.

"What did I miss?"

* * *

The Briars family fairly ran past Regina in the hall, probably escaping a conflict they were just on the fringes of anymore. The Hermans passed by her much more slowly, giving her looks she didn't care to interpret. Hornsby was headed up the hall with his back to Regina, unaware she was there, probably heading back into his office.

She stepped into the fourth grade classroom to find Snow looking like she was going in to shock, David keeping a hand on her arm while he glared at the Blue Fairy like she'd brought a box of cobras into the room that resulted in the chaos, and Neal slunk down low in the same chair like he was trying to turn invisible. The Blue Fairy seemed to be finding strength in the decreased audience size, and was in damage control mode if Regina had ever heard it.

"This was my fault," she spoke with ingratiating smoothness. "Talking to Belle about our concerns at this time was a mistake. She must be so upset over what happened Monday."

"Well yeah," Regina cut in, spooking Blue in a very satisfying way. "Having your only child hunted like a dog and beaten by a member of town law enforcement isn't exactly a comforting sign of where they stand, is it?"

David pressed his lips together. "Hook's fired. Emma's out on suspension. I'm taking care of that, and we _will_ handle this school situation with more decorum in the future."

He glared at Neal when he said that, and Regina wondered if applause would be inappropriate. She wouldn't finger the head Charming himself for being the sensible parent, but then, Snow was always so governed by her emotions she very rarely saw the practicality in anything. David's key flaw was in taking a backseat to Snow's judgement though, and that always leaned towards the do-what-feels-right-even-if-it's-stupid-and-wrong spectrum. It was why they'd coddled Emma so when she was spiraling out of control as the Dark One and let her talk them into heading into the Underworld for her precious piece of shit boyfriend-turned-abusive spouse.

Speaking of...

"If you're finished here," Regina ignored the Blue Fairy opening her mouth to speak. "We need to talk about Emma."

David frowned. "What now?"

"Henry called me last night to check what time this disaster was supposed to start. He also said he and Emma had a row in the diner and that he can't handle her right now. It might do her some good if the two of you bothered to step up and make sure she's okay."

David hesitated, and for all Regina was irritated by her, at least Snow seemed to pick up on the bigger issues than her own smote feelings. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What do you mean by okay?"

"As in still _breathing_ , not wearing a black eye or broken bones. At the diner last night she was apologizing for Hook, but not to Oliver or Gold, or even Belle. It's like she can't understand that it's not her fault."

"She's the one that messed with the records," Neal muttered. "It's kinda her fault..."

"Neal!" Snow snapped, and Regina jumped. Oh good. At least she wasn't a total doormat for her son.

"You're in enough trouble." David added sharply. "Don't add to it by talking about your sister like that."

Neal scowled down at his shoes. Maybe emotionally or mentally Regina hadn't always been the best mother to Henry when he was a child, but she'd never dreamed of physically striking him. The only child she'd entertained fantasies of attacking was Snow White, and that was tied to another mess of issues more or less straightened out by some tough therapy sessions and soul-searching. But damn it all if Neal Nolan didn't make a strong case for slapping a surly child around.

Especially when he sounded so much like a certain-

"Are you certain you can handle teaching a child magic?" Blue questioned, looking Regina directly in the eye. "It won't be as easy as teaching Emma. He's a child, immature and emotional. That's a dangerous combination with magic powers."

Regina swallowed back the initial spark of sheer rage threatening to put a fireball in her hand. Couldn't this glorified gnat learn _anything_? It was over. Oliver was her student, she'd lost, she needed to just fly back to the convent and revaluate her life choices. All centuries of them. Maybe that would keep her hypocritical little nose out of other people's business for a long time.

"Actually..." Snow hesitated. "That might not be too much of a problem with Oliver. He's sort of friends with Robbi now, he knows Regina. It...it might actually be harder for him to take lessons from a practical stranger, he's slow to warm up to people."

Had Belle knocked something loose in Snow's brain? Regina didn't know whether to applaud or give Snow another knock just to make sure the lesson stuck. Oliver was _not_ the problem in this equation. At least not yet. Or not really. The problem was going to be how he coped with the changes having powers wrought. Regina and Rumple had both curled into the embrace of magic as armor against the cruel world. Emma seemed okay up until she became the Dark One, but that was almost a given. Not for the first time, Regina cursed Hook for killing off the most powerful wizard to ever live for petty-ass revenge. Merlin would have been a fabulous teacher in this situation from what little Regina had seen.

Blue subtly clenched her jaw, her face an icy mask of calm. She nodded politely to Snow. "As you wish, your Highness. But should any problems arise, you know where to find me."

And she left.

"I really, really hate her," Regina muttered once the fairy leader was gone. "Did you invite her, or did she talk you into it?"

Snow shrugged uncomfortably. "Probably more of the latter, I guess. Is...is Killian really a danger to Emma, you think?"

"He wouldn't hurt her!" Neal protested. "He loves her!"

Snow and David looked at Regina helplessly, and she read the message loud and clear. It was hard to talk honestly about Killian Jones when his number one fan was standing right there ready to defend his hero. There was a long phone call in her future, she could sense it.

"Neal, Neal we're not saying he'd hurt her, it's just..." Snow faltered, lost for words.

"It's just Emma's not in a good place." David covered for her. "She's...something's not right, and we'll figure it out so we can help her. That's what we're going to do."

The little punk softened for a moment, looking almost like he was using his brain and heart for a change. "So...something's wrong with Emma? Like a curse maybe?"

"Yeah, something like that..."

* * *

Cleo stayed in her room a lot at home. Or out in the backyard, weather permitting. She had made the shed her playhouse when she was about four, she kept an old blanket and flashlight out there and everything. Emma had put a walkie-talkie out there that they'd called her landline, just so she could check and make sure she was okay out there. She'd never let Cleo sleep out there overnight, especially not when snow was on the ground, but when she woke up that morning she couldn't find Cleo anywhere.

A chair pulled up to the cabinet indicated Cleo had snuck out with...a jar of peanut butter. The bread was in the wrong place, too, so she must've made herself a peanut butter sandwich. Before panicking, the first place Emma checked was the shed. Sure enough, she found Cleo there curled up in her coat and blanket, with a book propped open on her knees.

"Hey." Emma sat down beside her, resting her hands on her knees. "Cold enough for you?"

"S'okay." Cleo shrugged. She had a beanie on under her hood, it flattened her bangs almost over her eyes. She needed a trim. "Are you in trouble Mommy?"

"Trouble?" Emma asked, aware her voice sounded horribly chipper. "No. No, no, no...what kind of trouble?"

Another little shrug. "Daddy hurt Oliver and Mr. Gold, right?"

"Wh-who told you that?"

"Nobody," Cleo looked down at her book. "But I'm right...aren't I?"

Emma swallowed, though her mouth was dry. Had Henry told her that? No...no, Henry might hate Killian, but he never tried to turn Cleo against her father. If anything he'd have kept quiet. Had Cleo come to guess what happened? Gossip was probably flying by now, she could have overheard something in the diner. Shouldn't she be more upset then? Why did she look like she believed it?

Oh. Cleo was looking at her now.

"I'm right," she murmured quietly, looking away again. Emma's heart cracked.

"Oh, sweetie...it's...it's..." Emma squirmed on the cold hard-packed dirt under her butt, trying to find the right words. "It's...just not...your father kind of...your father made a mistake."

"He hit Oliver?"

"Y-yeah...but-"

"Why?" Cleo's mittened hands curled tight around her book. "Oliver's not a bad guy! Heroes don't hurt people!"

"It-It's more complicated than heroes and bad guys, it's not-He made a mistake, but he didn't mean to."

"You said that wasn't an excuse when I kicked Crystal in the shin."

Emma groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn't sleep last night. She was expecting Killian to come home, but he didn't. That was two nights out, in a row, which hadn't happened in years. Henry was mad too, because she'd really, really fucked it all up, and that had never happened before. Having both Henry and Killian mad at her over the same thing. Was there a stronger term than a mere fucking up? If so, that probably applied here.

"Daddy made a mistake, and that's the truth. He shouldn't have hit Oliver, but he did, and that's his mistake. He can't be a deputy anymore now, and..." Emma swallowed, looking away from her daughter's big blue eyes for a moment. "And I've got to stay home for awhile. I made a mistake too."

"Who'd you hit?" Cleo asked, looking a little worried. Emma almost laughed. Or sobbed. She couldn't tell what the sensation was bubbling up in her throat, but it was semi-hysterical.

"Nobody, I didn't hit anyone. It was a different mistake." She reached out to wrap an arm around her daughter, and felt relieved when Cleo easily snuggled against her side. "Things might be a little tough for awhile, but it'll be okay. I'll go back to being a deputy soon enough, and your dad's out looking for a new job right now."

"Is there where he was last night?"

"Yes." Emma agreed readily. It was easier than telling her what she thought the truth really was once Henry brought it up... "That's right."

It was quiet for a moment. Just long enough for guilt to start nibbling at the corners of Emma's mind again. This was all her fault. If she just let things take their course, things would have been so much better. So much less...broken.

"Are you not talking to Henry again?" Cleo asked out the blue, bringing a fresh wave of shame.

When Henry moved out, it was weeks before he would talk to her, let alone visit. She took too long to try and mend fences, she knew that now, but the idea of going to the pawnshop so soon after their fight and trying to work things out made Emma feel sick to her stomach. They both needed some time to cool off. Just a little space for today. Innocent little Cleo hadn't known the whole of what was going on, she just knew that Henry didn't visit that much, and she hadn't seen him except for a handful of times at the diner or when her grandfather took her with him on an errand to the pawnshop.

"I don't know yet..." she answered slowly. "We had a fight...but...we just need a little time to cool off, it won't take long. Promise."

Cleo nodded, snuggling deeper into her side. Emma kissed the hood of her little coat, letting out a deep sigh. She could fix this. She _would_ fix this. It was just a mistake, she could fix it. It was time for her to fight for her happy ending, it didn't have to be perfect, just hers.

"Emma?"

Killian.

Cleo wiggled out of Emma's arms and shifted back into her little nook. Emma let her stay put, not knowing what kind of state Killian was in, and brushed the dirt off her clothes as she stood up. She walked out the shed, finding Hook circling around the corner of the house. The front door was locked, he must've been coming around for the back door. He must not have thought to grab his keys yesterday. Or the day before.

"Hey," Emma put on a smile. "How did the job hunt go?"

"I might've found something," he answered with a wave of his hand, already up the back steps. "I have to be back later this afternoon. After a nap."

"Right. You hungry? I was gonna make pancakes?"

There was no answer, but Emma followed him upstairs anyway. He walked into their bathroom and shut the door, so Emma grabbed some clean clothes and a towel. She checked the bedside table for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept for the odd headache, but it was empty, so she checked the first-aid kit in the kitchen and got a glass of water, too. (She'd tucked her last wedding glass away, wrapped in a towel and stashed in another cabinet.) When she got back upstairs, Killian was dressed and screwing in his back-up hook. She wasn't sure if David had confiscated it or what, but maybe she should see about getting him another one. Or they could finally look in to those modern prosthetics.

She handed over the pills and water, which he knocked back in order, draining the glass with a sigh. He set the glass on the nightstand and yawned, looking at the bed and then out the door.

"It's not that early, where's Cleo?"

"Oh she's playing, don't worry about it. I'll keep things quiet while you're napping."

"Hmm...ah, Emma," he held out his hand, wrapping his fingers around her elbow and tugging her closer. "Look. I'm sorry I was such a bear yesterday. I had too much to drink and not enough time to sleep it off. Truthfully I think I'm _still_ hungover, ah, but you deserve an apology regardless of my excuses."

"It's okay."

"No, no it's not. You were just trying to protect me, I should have known better. I'd probably do the same thing for you." He smiled sheepishly, winding his arms around her. "People do crazy things when they're in love, yeah?"

Emma smiled back, her chest warming. Henry didn't know what he was talking about. Killian was a good father, he loved Cleo and her both. He just had a dark side that sometimes got the best of him, but everyone did, didn't they? And Killian had certainly done some crazy things to protect her in the past, he was completely right. And she believed he was sorry. And grateful he acknowledged the wrong he'd done.

"Yeah."

Killian's smile widened, and he bent to kiss her, his tongue sliding between her lips. He tasted minty fresh, just like toothpaste, and his beard had been trimmed back to a neater layer of scruff. The last two days had been washed away. They were fine.

"Now," he grinned, slipping a hand down and scooping her up bridal style, carrying her to the bed. "Perhaps we could both do with a bit of a nap, what do you think?"

"Ah...I don't know," Emma hesitated, squirming to sit up on the bed as soon as she was set down. Cleo was out in the shed with her book, but what if she came back inside? "I don't think that's a good idea, not now."

"But I want to make up for my bad behavior, love." Killian waggled his eyebrows, heading for the door even as he spoke. "We'll shut the door, turn on the radio. C'mon. You know I'm good at this part of making up."

Emma looked at the door again as the lock clicked. Well...well the door was locked, and they were on the inside. And this was sort of his way of making it up to her. When they made love, it meant everything was okay and all was forgiven. And they weren't so good at using words to promise that. This was just their way. She had just enough time to get on the same page, before Killian had her pinned to the bed with her arms stretched over her head, grinning smugly as he fitted the tip of his hook at the top button of her blouse, ripping it open. It was an old top, one she only wore for housework or yardwork, so it was fine.

They were fine...

* * *

Tink brought Garrick over to the library to visit, but Oliver had gone across the street with his father. So after Garrick visited a bit with Robbi, he trotted over there. He'd invited her to his birthday party Sunday, Tink had been told. They were going to have a very interesting party indeed if Regina and Robbi were showing up.

Sadly, that's not what Tink was there for.

When Tink first came to Storybrooke, there hadn't been enough time for her to be overwhelmed since Pan cast his curse and Regina's intervention had simply sent them back to the Enchanted Forest instead. When they came back to Storybrooke afterwards, that's when Tink got a bit...frazzled. Phones, TVs, radios, electric lights, hot and cold running water, records, CDs, cars, sidewalks, air conditioning, airplanes, the internet, microwaves, prepacked food, toasters, zippers, velcro, bras, jeans, bloody mint-flavored toothpaste: It was a lot to take in, especially since she was mostly on her own.

Regina had helped for a little bit before she'd been swept away in an avalanche of mayoral responsibilities and family drama. Tink had started taking long walks since the woods was the only place remotely familiar in this world outside of The Rabbit Hole that she could find comfort in, but being out in the woods at night made her uneasy. She'd spend decades on Neverland in the dark, surrounded by half-feral adolescent boys and their psychotic leader, dark forests were not what she associated with "comfort zones" in the least. She'd had what Archie identified later as a panic attack when she'd gotten a bit turned around and saw the Merry Men's campfire in the distance...not the best way to meet new friends, that, but that's how Tink got acquainted with the Merry Men. By far the most important friend Tink had made was Archie Hopper though, or Jiminy Cricket. Whichever.

Once she got her Missing Year memories back, Tink recalled their genuine first meeting after she'd had a big fight with Blue at Castle Charming's gardens. Anybody in the garden could overhear them because they were both full-sized, something Blue was ironically bitching about. The fight had to do with how Astrid was seeing Leroy/Grumpy and Rheul Gorm the great and tyrannical was trying to quash their rekindled relationship, and she found out Tink was helping to thwart the quashing at every turn.

Archie landed on the bench beside Tink after the fighting was over and tossed his cute little hat into the ring, offering his services however he could help. He wasn't of much use to the Charmings, (at least that was the impression they'd certainly given him,) and at his heart, Archie was a sweet, helpful person. His bad luck in life hadn't ruined his good heart, and that he had a veritable bag of tricks to help Tink get settled in had made him an important figure in her life even before she got knocked up by his best friend's son.

That was...awkward, to say the least. When August took off, Archie helped her and Marco out with Garrick, keeping an eye on him when they were busy or whatnot. He was always invited to holidays and birthdays, and when dear old Pongo passed away, Tink had been over as soon as she could. They were very close, but, that was kind of why Tink couldn't ask him for advice in this predicament.

Her second choice was Belle, because she almost had the exact same heart and desire to help as Archie, just without the curse-given PhD or office space. She was sitting at her circulation desk, Robbi was making use of a beanbag in the children's section well out of earshot, and Garrick had already gone across the street. Tink had watched to make sure he didn't get hit by a car, but by then, she was out of excuses. At first Belle had asked her polite questions about how the storm treated them, how Garrick was, if the party Sunday was still on, if they needed her to bring anything, normal stuff between the mothers of two children.

Then, Tink took the plunge: "Hey, uh...Belle? I have something...something difficult to ask your opinion of."

"Okay...what exactly? Is everything alright?"

Tink stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I got a call this morning. Um...it's...well...see, every year y'know how August sends some birthday money or something for Garrick?"

"Yes." Belle nodded. Nobody quite understood how the Storybrooke Post Office was capable of receiving Amazon shipments or junk mail, there was a theory that Amazon was run by some sort of magic-wielding staff that didn't look twice when someone from a town uncharted on any map ordered a Snuggie. Getting mail out was a bit more nebulous, but, that was besides the point. Belle titled her head, looking suspicious. "August didn't call to ask for money, did he?"

Thankfully, no, he had never done _that_. "No..." Tink glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. "I don't know what to do. August calls me up, I figure he wants some idea about what to send Garrick, instead he ends up asking me if he can come to the party Sunday."

Belle's eyes widened. "He wants to come back?"

"That's not what he said, but it's not what he didn't say either. I don't know." Tink groaned, raking a hand through her curls. "Nine years away with a few video chats being as close as they've ever come face-to-face, and suddenly he wants to come back for his son's birthday. What the hell do I say to that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it only took me two weeks to come back and drop a handful of bombs in a belated chapter. Yay! :D


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M LATE BUT I'M HERE!

Dr. Hopper's assistant, who had been some sort of lizard or something once, had seen Rumpelstiltskin just after lunch. Oliver and Garrick had taken Figaro out for a walk, supervised by Henry, who was doubtlessly killing time so he didn't have to tend to the ledgers at the shop.

Despite his love of the written word, paperwork with numbers attached was something Henry tried to put off as much as possible. He must've gotten that from his mother's side of the family. The Charmings were not known for their ability to handle bureaucratic dealings. Rumpelstiltskin had taken a look at them while visiting the shop before lunch, and found it wasn't too bad. Henry just put off messing with the ledgers until the end of the week, not catching up on months of paperwork in one go. Speaking of paperwork, Rumpelstiltskin was given a fresh prescription for his medication at the end of the appointment. The assistant, Jacob Newton, had suggested a doctor's appointment as well just to make sure he was healthy, and in case they needed to revaluate the medication dosage.

Newton had gone into some recent business for a bit. He'd asked if how Rumpelstiltskin felt, how he was adjusting, if he'd had any recent suicidal thoughts or ideations. The answers were a bit tired due to some issues at Oliver's school, he felt fine and hadn't had a bad depressive episode recently, and neither thoughts nor ideations had crossed his mind since the incident. Newton had also asked how Rumpelstiltskin's little "homework" of sitting on the back steps was going.

Oh.

"Er...well, I had a bad fall this past Saturday. I was stuck indoors, and then I'd left to find Oliver when he'd run off. I suppose I haven't been keeping up with it. Tuesday night I did leave the house to have dinner, if that counts for anything."

Newton made a note, smiling, "That sounds understandable. Why did you leave the house if you were injured though?"

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. "I, er, I have some healing potions down in my basement. I took one that healed my sprain." There had been long, arduous talks with Hopper about his dependency on magic to fix problems. It was a choice of convenience to mend his ankle, it was easier keeping up with a small child without a cane. When he'd started therapy, Rumpelstiltskin had made concentrated efforts to cut out magic in day-to-day life altogether barring emergencies and replenishing potion stock. "Would that count as a...as a relapse, do you think?"

Newton pursed his lips. "I think you made the best with what you had. I wouldn't call that a relapse by nature, but if you find yourself turning more to magical aids like that in the future, I think you should talk that over with Dr. Hopper again. Coping mechanisms and the like. Sadly addiction-Which is what you've chosen to describe it, yes?-Addiction doesn't go away, it's always there in the background. It can be ignored, you can make better choices, even reform, but it's always something to keep an eye on, especially during times of stress. I understand that Oliver's situation at school is..." he paused for a long moment, making a rather unprofessional face that almost had Rumpelstiltskin laugh. Almost. "Well, it's rough. He has an appointment with Archie later today, right?"

"He does, yes. He'll be seeing Mayor Mills about these new abilities Friday as well."

"I'm glad to hear it. Oliver's a good kid." Newton nodded.

There were only a handful of minutes left in the session, and when those ran out Rumpelstiltskin left. He had brought Oliver over with him though it was still too early for his session, and as Garrick had tagged along, both boys took Figaro out for a walk. Henry had volunteered to go along with them, under the guise of wanting to meet up with Violet, who should be walking the shelter's dogs at about this time, but Rumpelstiltskin suspected the lad simply wasn't too keen on letting them wander into Hook out on the street. He was entirely justified as well...

Rumpelstiltskin stood undecided in the hall for a minute. Unsure if he should wait, or brave the walk back to his shop. It wasn't far...but what if he ran into Hook as well? The odds of that couldn't be as unfavorable as all that, but Rumpelstiltskin still felt certain it would happen if he went. Whether that was anxiety or experience though...that was the question-

"Oh, afternoon Gold." Tinker Bell nodded, stopping short in front of him. "Are you headed in or out?"

Rumpelstiltskin only made two exceptions to his "I hate fairies" policy: Astrid being obvious for both going against the Blue Fairy's dictator-like rule over all fairydom, and as the mother of Oliver's best friend. He had a respect for Tinker Bell before their children were friends though. She paid rent on time while she had an apartment in one of his buildings, she had proven to be a capable single mother, and she had a reputation down at The Rabbit Hole for not letting drunken behavior get out of hand. She was quite worthy of respect even if some people couldn't look past her being a rejected fairy and an unwed mother with an absentee father-of-child.

"Out, I suppose. Ah, did you see Henry or Oliver on your way in?"

"No, sorry. I thought Garrick might've wandered over here with you, I guess he went with them, right?" Tink sounded like she was asking a rhetorical question. She was also fidgeting with her coat. "So, ah...how are you? Belle tells me the school meeting thing went over with mixed results. Did she really punch Snow White?"

"Yes, yes she did." And it was rather glorious to behold if Rumpelstiltskin weren't also concerned about Belle's odds if Snow remembered _she_ could fight. "Snow's also been demoted, the Blue Fairy has tried again to start something, Hornsby wasn't having it. Phil Briars is being transferred to the fifth grade and the other two have twenty days suspension and community service."

"What kind of community service do they give ten-year-olds?"

"Assisting at the short-handed sheriff's station and with the set up of the Heritage Day Festival."

Tink groaned. "Heritage Day? Crap. When the hell is that again?"

Rumpelstiltskin felt himself smiling. He often thought cursing was beneath fairies, but, that was just another neat little difference where Tinker Bell was concerned. Then again, being trapped on an island with his father and feral followers and a crew of Hook's pirates would certainly put swear words in the purest of mouths. "If today is Wednesday the fifth, then it would be the fifteenth. Second Saturday of the month."

"Ugh. I'm supposed to be in charge of that stupid sampling booth The Rabbit Hole hosts each year, and I've got to get on that. I swear, I don't mind my job except for this one weekend out of the year. The only people to show up are barely-legal kids curious about the pseudo-firewhiskey and their father's ale, and a bunch of drunks. The people in between are either five out of seven dwarves, or overestimate how much is too much and get drunk."

"Mm. Why five out of seven?"

"Well they appoint one as a designated driver, and Leroy doesn't drink anymore."

"Since when?" Out of the seven, Leroy/Grumpy was the one you could consistently find with something alcoholic in his hand. Under the curse he'd been the town drunk, and while he had settled down to being a responsible father and husband, he was still...well...was that actually true or had Rumpelstiltskin made an error in judgement?

Apparently so. Tink shrugged, sticking her hands in her pockets. "I think he decided to quite when he did some therapy stuff with Archie. Remember when Dopey was a tree? About then. He quit for good once he and Astrid got together, I think. The closest he gets to beer now is the 'root soda' variety nowadays. Says he feels healthier for it. Y'know, he's got those three kids to keep up with, and Sleepy's not a real good designated driver."

Hmm. That was...interesting. And a bit of a lesson. Rumpelstiltskin had made that error everyone always made with him, he'd assumed someone was still sticking to old habits. He should have known better-

"Ah," Tink cleared her throat, peering over his shoulder at the office door. "Speaking of dads, er, I guess...I, um, I was asking Belle for her advice on something. Something with August? She had some good points, but she said I might want to talk to you."

August? As in, the _absentee father-of-child_ August? "Why?"

"Something about perspective, um, could we talk outside? Please?"

"Ah...I suppose. Ladies first."

It would appear he was going outside after all...

* * *

Belle's first appointment wasn't what she expected it to be. Granted she didn't know what she'd been expecting, but a handful of questions that didn't require much soul-searching wasn't really it. Not for the first time, she wished she'd been a bit less frosty when Rumple tried discussing his first few weeks in therapy with her. The questions weren't exactly effortless, some of them did require Belle to think, but for the most part she didn't have any big revelations.

But Archie said that was normal.

"This first session is to get a feel for this situation," he explained. "I'll try to decide where we should really start working next week, and you get comfortable with me asking what can be very personal quesions."

Put like that, it did make more sense. So Belle tried to relax, tried to be open. She found it was much, much easier to be on the listening end of openness than being the...the... _the opening_ , though. By far the absolute hardest question was the simplest:

"What are your goals for therapy?"

Belle had told him in the diner, hadn't she? Hadn't she? She'd explained she'd gotten so upset about the stupid flowers because her own son hadn't thought her capable of bringing gifts, even innocent ones with wishes of convalesence behind them, if they were meant for Rumple. She'd said she hated that, hated that they had reasons to think that way, hated that she'd been unable to sign a freaking card wishing Rumple a Happy Valentine's Day a month ago solely because she was terrified of where he actually stood with her.

(If after ten years of walking away, shutting out, and shutting down, Belle was finally warming to the idea that not everything in their relationship could be blamed on him and she'd been unfair, where did he really stand?)

It wasn't just Rumple though. Monday night when Oliver had apologies tumbling out of his mouth, fearing she was going to hate him now because he was magic, something in Belle broke. She didn't want her son to be petrified of making a mistake and losing her love, she wanted to say very surely that it would never happen. Except what did her and Rumple's tumultuous estranged marriage look like through Oliver's young eyes?

She'd spent so damned long picking up the slack for other people, trying to mend fences with people that had broken them in the first place, that Belle felt like she'd been letting her own family down day by day in the process. And that terrified her. The way Snow spoke to her today, like Belle would see her side even though it meant sacrificing Oliver? It was like she _knew_. She knew that Belle would do what she thought was right, unselfishly right, in the name of the Snow White brand of heroism: _You must do what we think is right, so we can be more comfortable regardless of your feelings or standards._

And Belle was done being the Giving Tree. She didn't want to be a rotting stump that had given away all her gifts to someone that just asked for more, more, more. What Belle wanted most was to be brave and honest again. She wanted the strength to say "no" to people, and the honesty to not skirt issues with the people she loved anymore. She wanted...she wanted...

Why was it so hard to put into words though?

"I...I want to...I want to have..." Belle dropped her eyes to her fingers, twisting in her lap, scouring her vocabulary for the right words. "I want to have healthier relationships. With the people that matter."

Archie nodded like her stammering was a good answer, made a note on his pad, and then asked some easier personal question like what sort of friends she'd had growing up. Most of these questions were only difficult because Belle had to look back on her childhood and days in the Enchanted Forest as a budding noblewoman. She often tried not to think about that because of her mother's death, and the taint her good memories of Papa carried now.

She'd certainly be having a talk with him while Oliver took his turn in therapy...

The session ended and Belle didn't feel like a changed woman as she stood up and collected her hat and coat. Archie dropped out of doctor-patient mode and asked how the school meeting went. Completely without her permission, the first words to pop out were: "I punched Snow's face and called her a fat hypocrite."

Archie's eyebrows went up, and his mouth fell open for a beat.

"Ah..."

Belle could feel her face heating. In the, well, heat of the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. Snow had been on her very last nerve, had a case of verbal diarrhea, and had invited the Blue Fairy. It was a blessing that the Hermans weren't particularly attached to the fairies, and that the Briars' were just there to handle Phil's part, but Belle still worried that she might've overreacted and given that...that...that _sparkling gnat_ ammunition with her outburst. David had been pulling Snow back and looked like he was as mortified by her part as he was shocked Belle drew first blood, so at least she wouldn't be arrested.

Oh god.

What if she got arrested?

"That sounds...interesting. How did that come about?" Archie asked, tapping his pen against the notepad.

Belle shrugged uncomfortably. "I...well...um, see, I was out in the parking lot getting a notebook. I wanted to write down what was being said? But while I was there, the Blue Fairy pulled up, and she tried selling me on this absurd idea that Oliver is now some dangerous creature that only she can tame, that letting Regina teach him would infect him with dark magic if he weren't already ruined by nature of being Rumple's son, that sort of thing. Snow let her come, and Blue tells me she was told about Oliver by my father. Who went straight to the Blue Fairy, without checking with me, without wondering what I'd have to say and-And then there was Snow spouting the same rubbish Blue had in the parking lot, only much more sympathetic mind you, and I just-I couldn't take it, I had to shut her up and punching her seemed like the best choice."

She got angry just thinking about it in hindsight. _Ugh_.

Archie hummed. "I see. Well-"

"Then after I hit her, we start fighting-verbally,-and Rumple pulled me back as David pulled Snow back. I told her to mind her own son, I think she said something like if I wasn't going to do anything about Oliver than she had to for the sake of the rest of her students, I definitely called her a fat hypocrite after that. And I also think I said she was covering her ass for being a piss-poor authority figure as per usual..." Belle bit her lip, partly from nerves and partly to stem the flow of words. "It was a bit of a mess. She's been suspended again though, demoted to a teacher's aid."

"Ah. Well, I think that's a good thing. Snow is a very kind woman with a great number of assets, but her qualifications for being a school teacher are a bit tenuous. Given how she has a percieved personal interest in a number of the children in her class this year especially, the cracks are starting to show." Archie sighed, tossing his notepad and pen on his desk. "It's a shame, really. As the leader of a resistance movement and wilderness survivalist, Snow's on top of her game. Shame there isn't much call for that in this realm."

Belle couldn't disagree at all. But that did bring to mind another "wilderness survivalist" though.

Tink had begged Belle not to mention August's possible return to Archie. Whether it was embarrassment or...personal, Belle couldn't be sure, but she did know that Tink needed advice fast. Garrick's birthday was Sunday, four days away. She had to make a decision soon. So while Belle had suggested she talk things over with Marco, and Garrick as well, she'd also made the tentative suggestion of asking Rumple for his opinion.

Rumple had been on multiple sides of this scenerio before: The father reuniting with a son, the child abandoned by the father, the father (accidentally in that case) abandoning the son. He'd have insight Belle simply didn't. And though she thought Tink would benefit from asking Archie's opinion, she still respected that Tink didn't want to.

Sometimes it was painfully difficult talking about certain things with those closest to you.

* * *

Tink rarely entered Gold's Pawnshop. She used to carry rent there if she was busy on rent day, Garrick balanced on her hip once or twice, and she hadn't known where else to approach Gold when attempting to move in with Marco after his fall.

Gold had evicted her then over something silly like a scuffed bit of floor, or a smear on the wall, breaking her lease and letting her go free. He could be a shady shit, Tink knew, but he was usually a "chaotic neutral" shit. Sometimes even "chaotic good", when he did nice things disguised by not-so-nice fronts like that.

Hey, he didn't kidnap kids and had only ripped out Hook's heart the one time for neferious purposes, so he was already not the worst guy Tink had ever met.

She'd given him a ride back here to the shop while he sent Henry a text letting him know where he was now. Belle had suggested talking to Gold about this little...problem. With August the Absent. Her exact words had been: _"He's had experience in this area that I don't think anyone else has...just...try to bring it up tactfully."_

Tinker Bell could do honesty. Gentleness she was less good at. Combing the two into a tactful approach to a man like Mr. Gold was taking a bit of time...

"So...what's the puppet done?"

Tink sighed, tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel as she parked the car on the curb. "Nothing. Yet. He's asked if he could come to Garrick's birthday on Sunday...I haven't given him an answer."

Gold raised an eyebrow. "What does he want?"

Oh good. She wasn't just being paranoid. "I don't know." He'd never asked for money, (not that she'd give it to him,) and he'd never asked to come home before. Tink had held her tongue when he first started calling and video-chatting because she didn't want to block Garrick from having a relationship with his father...it was her son's own choice to be disinterested by it once the novelty wore off after kindergarten. "I really don't know. I should probably talk it over with Marco first. And Garrick doesn't _hate_ his dad, y'know? So...there's that...what do you think?"

"Are you asking me for advice?" Gold asked, like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Shouldn't you go back and talk to Hopper about this sort of thing?"

Tink shifted in her seat. "Ah...I-I don't want to get him involved, if there's nothing to get involved with, yeah? And...well...I talked to Belle and she said you'd have some experience?"

So much for tact...

Luckily, Gold sometimes appreciated straightforwardness. Less room for his anxiety to take over, maybe, who knew? He just nodded and rolled his cane between his palms thoughtfully.

"Well...I suppose I do have some experience on both sides of the argument." Gold sighed. "On the one hand, my father was barely a father at all to me as a child. I always felt like something was wrong with me that I wasn't enough for him, and all he ever cared about was himself. I was lucky enough to have been dropped on the doorstep of two very kind spinner ladies who loved me more than Malcolm ever did. But on the other hand...as a father that made horrible mistakes with his son, I think if he genuinely wants to mend fences..."

Tink sighed, slumping back against her seat. "I just don't know what he wants...all he said was, 'Do you think Garrick would let me come to his party?'"

"Well. Would he, you think?"

"I don't even know that much, believe me. If I did, I wouldn't ask for advice. The problem is that I have a hard time believing August would come back out of the blue to mend those fences you're talking about. And my worst nightmare is that Garrick's going to get hurt because of it."

Gold simply nodded, his eyes faraway. "It's a valid concern. Perhaps..."

When he didn't finish his thought, Tink glanced at him out the corner of her eye. "Perhaps?"

"Well, ah, perhaps once you've talked it over with Garrick and Marco, and they allow him to return...well, the party will have Leroy and Regina there, won't it? Add in Belle, yourself, and maybe even Archie,-or Opal for that matter, she's a plucky little thing,-and you've got a strong little band of allies there ready to throw the bum out at the first sign of trouble."

Tink snorted, but, he wasn't wrong. "Yeah, I suppose that's true..." And that gave her an idea, actually.

Turning in her seat, she smiled at Gold. "How would you feel about coming over and giving August a real good scare if he turns up?"

"What?"

"Garrick likes you, he wouldn't mind you coming over. If I tell August to come, he won't know anything except you're the guy who held his face over an open fire and your kid's friends with Garrick. If I tell him no, then you just come over for a kid's birthday party for cake and ice cream."

Gold didn't seem repulsed by the idea at least. Tink was sure she could sell him on the idea if she didn't remind him that Belle was going to be there. Maybe hinting that it'd be good for him to get out and about among the people again, or remind him that there was really nobody at this party that wanted him dead or would treat him like a leper. Cake and ice cream was a pretty good reason alone to show up, right?

"I'll...think about it." His answer was hesitant, slow. "I'm hardly the festive sort."

"You don't have to be festive, just keep your conversations PG-13 and bring a present. Ask Oliver if Garrick's been looking at any records or something in the shop."

After another moment, Gold gave a tiny, barely-there nod. "I suppose I could do that. Um, you will forgive me if I can't stay long?"

"Sure. You've got to take care of yourself, I understand that." Tink had her own brushes with recovering from trauma. It was a bitch, but it got better if you handled it instead of ignoring it. "Ah, speaking of taking care, I'm sorry if I freaked you out the other day."

"The other day? How-Oh. That." Gold turned away, looking straight out the windshield. "Yes. No need to apologize to me, I owe you one instead. It was uncalled for."

"No, I get it. Green is...an unlucky color for you. That's fine."

"You were only trying to help me. I know that."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Tink nodded and climbed out the car. At least they had some sort of understanding. For the far-feared Dark One, Gold could act so much like if he didn't carefully follow his aloof, untouchable personality script the world wouldn't turn right, that it was almost all she could do not to crack a smile.

* * *

This wasn't a good session with Archie. Oliver forgot his knitting, and he couldn't focus on talking and the loom thingie at the same time, and Archie was asking questions he wasn't sure about the answers.

He'd had to recount everything from the school restroom to Mama apologizing to him, to the fight(s) in the dinner to the school this morning. A lot of shit had happened in three days. Then, Archie had started asking the questions: Why did you run, what were you feeling? Why did it feel like you had to leave town? Do you feel like you can trust Mama? What do you think about Mama and Papa's relationship?

Oliver ran because he panicked. He'd freaked out, he didn't think about emotions, he just ran away. Unless blind terror and a bit of horror were feelings enough. And he left town because he knew he couldn't go to Papa's house without stirring up trouble, and Mama...well, he thought Mama would be upset. If she broke up forever with Papa over him just reading magic, how would she feel about Oliver slamming Neal through a door? That was more terror, but that very night she had promised she wouldn't hate him just for having magic. She was going to try therapy, she said, so...Oliver wasn't sure if that was still valid or not. Mama was no selfish Zelena, or careless Hook, or wishy-washy Mrs. Jones. If she said something, she meant it.

Which bled into a really big question: How did Oliver feel about his parents' relationship?

He had tried not thinking about it for ages. It just made them both unhappy, even if things were going good for awhile. He figured most kids got upset by their parents divorcing, but Oliver couldn't ever remember a time when Mama and Papa lived together, or were happy together for longer than that one year before they quit for good. Opal said at the time that parents going out together all night on a date was a really good sign, but the next morning it had just...not been good at all. Oliver really thought, and had trouble putting it into words, that his parents just didn't know how to make each other happy and worked better together when they were fighting someone because they were on the same page.

"They suck at marriage."

It was blunter than he expected it to come out. Oh.

Archie pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile. "I can't...disagree with that."

"I mean, um, y'know...Mama doesn't hate him-" at least she said so, and she'd apologized and comforted Papa so that much Oliver believed in, "-and Papa won't hurt her. I don't think they mean to be so...so sucky, but they just are? I think they still like each other, but they don't kiss or hold hands or any of that stuff. It's like they aren't even in love anymore, and they seem to work together better that way...but Mama's opinion means a lot to Papa, and she was really weird when he was in the hospital."

"Weird how?"

"Weird...weird like...weird like, um, like she didn't know what to do? She got really upset when she got the phone call from Henry. Did you know she called Henry to check on Papa?"

Archie's eyebrows went up. "Did she?"

"Yeah. Um..." Oliver looked down to scratch Figaro's ears when he padded over for attention. "See, Papa was having an episode of depression I guess. I know he was real quiet and wouldn't leave the house. But I, uh, I snuck over the day before to come visit, and he told me I couldn't sleep over on Friday. I thought Mama told him that, and when I said that at home, Mama called Papa. But it wasn't like she was mad." No, not at all, and that had surprised Oliver the most in hindsight. "It was more like she knew something bad was happening."

And today she'd punched Snow White when she and the Blue Fairy kept insinuating everything Oliver had been scared to death was true, almost like they were trying to convince Mama the same thing. Y'know. Until she punched Mrs. Nolan.

Archie let Oliver move on to other questions then. He felt...he felt scared, happy, safe, and like crying when Papa was the one to find him out in the woods. Papa put himself between Hook and his gun, he didn't budge even though Oliver could see him starting to shake. He'd _saved_ Oliver, and nobody at the meeting this morning seemed to want to talk about that, just the bad stuff Papa had done. They never could give him his credit where it was due. Oliver remember some stupid Christmas pageant when he was in kindergarten, (he'd been like an angel or something? He remembered a white dressy thing he thought was a pillow case with sleeves and having to wear these plastic silver hoops on their heads while singing "Silent Night," he tried to repress that memory as soon as it was formed,) and there had been a potluck dinner afterwards.

Only Oliver, Garrick, Opal, their parents, Mama, and a very hesitant Regina had gone for the cupcakes Papa brought since every parent/guardian had been contracted to supply something. Mama had been letting Papa help, but no one went for it. They were nice cupcakes. Somehow Papa got the frosting to swirl red and white, like candy canes.

As for what he expected from school now? Nothing.

"Mr. Whitney's not Mrs. Nolan," Oliver shrugged. "But I'm not sure what difference there's gonna be. At least Phil's not going to be in the same class as us anymore, and he's not a pushy jerk towards Opal anymore. I think she really knocked the wind out of his sails when she said she didn't really care if he apologized or not."

"And that's her choice to make." Archie nodded. That sounded like he meant 'good for her!' to Oliver's ears. "Ah...it looks like we're running out of time. How about one last question? These magic lessons you're starting with Regina, they're Friday, right?"

"Right."

"And how do you feel about those after everything that's happened lately?"

After everything that happened lately? Oliver gave Figaro another pat. "I think...I think I can handle it. Mama wants Regina to teach me rather than the Blue Fairy, and I don't mind Regina. I think she'll keep me from slamming Neal through anymore bathroom doors at least, and that's all I really want."

Archie smiled. "Well, I hope you succeed with that. I'll be at Garrick's party on Sunday, if you have something you can't wait until next week to tell me, don't be afraid to ask."

Oliver nodded, but he knew he wouldn't. Talking in this office with only Figaro listening was one thing, it was actually pretty safe. But talking in Garrick's house seemed...less so. Not to mention it was Archie's day off. He really needed one at this rate.

With their session over, Oliver left the office and found Mama sitting in a chair with her book still. She smiled and they walked home to the library, and Oliver told her Garrick almost lost Figaro by dropping the leash and he took off towards Granny's. They found Ruby holding his leash at the diner for them, and were on their way again, but it was still a silly story that sucked all the tension out of Henry while they'd been walking around the block. He must've been thinking Hook was going to jump out and attack them.

Oliver would bet Hook was too hungover to attack anything but a bottle cork today...

Not that he knew the pirate's drinking habits, but he gathered from Henry and some things Cleo said, that when Hook was pissed and in the mood to sulk because he didn't get his way, his favorite place to sulk was either in The Rabbit Hole, or anywhere but at home so long as he had easy access to liquor. Oliver had never been in the Jones home before, but Cleo said her father kept a bottle of rum right out there on the counter. Papa had a locked cabinet he kept his stuff in, and Oliver had only ever seen a bottle get taken out two or three times a year before he'd gone into therapy. According to medication commercials on TV, pills and alcohol didn't mix, especially antidepressants. But not taking meds didn't seem like a good excuse to drink like it was going out of style.

Maybe for all their problems, his parents weren't the worst-off in Storybrooke after all.

* * *

When Mom said she wanted to talk, Garrick thought that it had something to do with his birthday. He hadn't remembered to tell her he'd invited Robbi until today. (he'd forgotten,) so, he thought that was it. Only it wasn't, it was somebody he hadn't thought about coming to his birthday at all.

His dad.

Mom and Grandpa must've talked about it while they were making dinner and Garrick was up in his room playing checkers against himself. (That sounded sad, playing checkers by himself, but he had to practice somehow.) After dinner was when Mom brought it up: Dad was in New York for some reason or other, and he wanted to come back for a visit. It couldn't be more than a visit, Garrick figured. So that was why he said it'd be okay.

At least he thought it would be...the longest he'd ever talked to August Booth had been half an hour. He talked about himself a lot, some of the stuff he'd seen and done seemed neat enough, but Garrick had a hard time feeling more than mild interest. He just didn't know his father. Oliver didn't live with his dad, but he still knew him. Mr. Gold still lived in Storybrooke. He still knew Oliver.

Last year Dad sent him a California postcard and a Lego set from some space movie Garrick hadn't seen. He wasn't much into aliens, or Legos, and he'd wrapped it up and given it to Peter and Joseph on their birthday in April without opening the plastic film sealed around the box. He felt kinda guilty for it, but he really didn't know what to do with a box of Legos. He wouldn't play with it but once or twice, and Opal had said her brothers loved them, so it seemed like a good choice at the time. Garrick may not know Dad, but Dad didn't know him either.

Mom had made sure to tell him there was no pressure either way. Let Dad visit, or turn him down. It was Garrick's birthday, and his father, and it didn't matter how she would happily tell Dad to go jump in a whale's mouth and rot, that was only her opinion. And Grandpa had nodded, squeezing Garrick's hand.

"If he wanted to come back," Grandpa said, his eyes just a little sad, "then he was welcome to come back anytime. You won't be turning him away if you say no."

Garrick had never seen his father before. Sure, he'd seen some pictures. There was Skype. But he didn't know how tall his dad was, what his voice sounded like without the echoing staticky sound of a computer speaker, or the telephone, or a dozen little things Oliver and Opal knew about their fathers without even thinking about it. It wasn't that he was jealous, if Garrick wanted to do dad-stuff with somebody, he'd just went to Grandpa, but if this was his chance to meet his father in person...

"Maybe...maybe he could just visit? For a little bit?"

He couldn't tell what kind of face Mom was making, but she didn't seem unhappy. Or happy. She nodded, and beckoned with a finger. "Alright then. Let's go call your dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archie's newly-written assistant here isn't anybody particularly special or from a story. I did take the name "Jacob Newton" partly from "Sir Isaac Newton", a character in Beatrix Potter's story, The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher. We can pretend he's the son of the fine little gentleman with his gold-and-black waistcoat. :)
> 
> The next update is going to have some magic lessons in it, as well as revealing the fate of Sam the Cat's vet appointment. *dun dun duuuunnnn*


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit a wall. And then I busted through it. It's been an interesting week in writing this story for me.
> 
> Also, there's a link to Robbi's dress only because I wasn't sure what she'd wear, as I've been thinking of her wearing a minty-green cowl-necked sweater dress this whole time. She's a Mills. She deserved something swanky. And black.

Sage green yarn, knitting needles, her black-and-white houndstooth [dress](http://mcdn.zulilyinc.com/images/cache/product/57488/zu2398170_alt_1_tm1377055291.jpg) she'd worn at Christmas but wasn't _too_ Christmasy so it would look nice at a birthday, but not too fancy with her favorite hiking boots. (She so loved these shoes, even if she'd never hiked a day in her life.) Robbi had everything by Friday for the party, but she still felt like she was forgetting something.

It wasn't until she was getting dressed and caught sight of Diana in her usual perch atop her pillow on the bed. Oh. That was what she was forgetting...

Mum.

Last Sunday, Robbi had asked to not visit Mum. She'd laughed at her friends, and mostly at everything Robbi told her she was doing now, and it made her feel so small and stupid that she couldn't bear going back so soon. So, she sent cookies to her mother hoping she wouldn't be too upset. But would she be upset if Robbi skipped another Sunday? Should she visit?

Robbi went downstairs to find Aunt Regina setting up some things in the living room,-pillar candles, a dome with a little pyramid-shaped bauble, two glass vials the size of her thumb,-in preparation of the lessons she'd be teaching after lunch when Oliver arrived. Robbi had been trying off and on to make a spoon teleport from under the butter dish into her palm, but to no avail yet. She thought she could feel a prickly sensation at the back of her neck, but that could've just been a strain-induced headache. Magic was harder than it looked.

"Hey." Aunt Regina gave her a brief smile before sitting down on the sofa. "Are you ready for a training partner?"

Robbi shrugged. "Yeah. I guess so. Um, what if I don't have magic?"

"Then you don't have magic. Plenty of people get along in this town without it, look at Belle, or Garrick's grandfather."

Oh yeah. "And Archie?"

"Him too." Aunt Regina frowned at the candles for a moment, taking them off the table. "I'm not teaching you to set anything on fire yet, this is a bad idea."

Robbi had to agree. "So what are we gonna do?"

Carrying the candles back to the mantlepiece, Aunt Regina explained, "That dome is what Rumple had me use when I was starting out, you've already been practicing that, but I think we'll try something even simpler if Oliver can't do that either. The candles were for lighting, but I think we'll try something else. Let me see...how about bending some spoons with your mind?"

It was an interesting question, and Robbi almost forgot what she wanted to ask as she followed Aunt Regina to the kitchen. She _didn't_ forget though. It was kind of important. "Um...so...do I have to visit Mum this week, you think?"

Aunt Regina paused, the silverware drawer open and one hand on a spoon.

Robbi looked down to her socks, wiggling her toes. "I just thought...since I wasn't there last week, if maybe I should visit, or send another plate of cookies. Didn't she like those?"

"She...made quick work of them." Aunt Regina answered slowly. "Ah...well...do you want to visit? I suppose we could drop by after the party if you'd like."

That was the complicated bit: Robbi didn't _know_ if she wanted to visit or not. Mum was her mother, and maybe she wasn't a great mother, but she was still the one Robbi had. She couldn't just walk away and leave her in the hospital, could she? But visiting Mum lately meant listening to her put down her friends, making fun of her books, everything really...

It used to feel good to see Mum, but now it just made Robbi feel unhappy. And not because it didn't seem Mum was going to come home soon. (It didn't seem like she was going to be let out any day soon, anyway.) Just because...because Aunt Regina listened when Robbi started rambling about something, she didn't call her silly, and she let Robbi visit other houses.

The thought of going back to the farmhouse with Mum now made her chest feel tight.

"Um..."

Aunt Regina closed the silverware drawer, looking Robbi over before sighing, reaching out to brush her hair out of her face.

"Look. Your mother isn't...healthy. You know that, right?"

Robbi did. At least, she'd suspected it. Otherwise Mum wouldn't be seeing Archie...or locked up. "Yeah."

"And she's not like Mr. Gold, she doesn't really want to reform because she doesn't see what she did wrong. It's...it's messy, and sad, and if you want to visit her it wouldn't be a bad thing, but it won't make her turn over a new leaf faster. It's not...that's not...she isn't someone you can change just because you believe in her. I wish it weren't so complicated, but there you go. She's got a lot of work to do herself right now to change, and you're putting a lot of effort into making a life that makes you happy too. And that's okay."

Archie said something sorta like that once, Robbi thought. She nodded quietly, mulling it over in her head. If she told Mum she was going to a birthday party, Mum wouldn't be happy. But Robbi was excited to go. She'd been to Neal and Ruth's birthdays before, even if she always ended up sitting quietly by herself half the time, but maybe that was only 'cause the Nolans invited her to be nice.

Robbi hadn't been excited to go to those parties, but she knew Garrick, and was getting to know his two best friends, and that was pretty interesting.

"Maybe...maybe I could see her after school on Monday? Or something like that?" Robbi asked slowly. That seemed like a good compromise: She'd see Mum, and she wouldn't have to tell her about the party. It wasn't lying if you didn't say anything, right?

Aunt Regina nodded slowly, withdrawing two spoons. "I'll see what I can do. Now," she held up the spoons. "Which of these do you think is better for bending?"

* * *

Mama had taken Oliver to Granny's Diner for lunch before she dropped him off at Regina's house for his lesson. Since it was a Friday, Henry would pick him up and take him home to Papa's, so Oliver had his stuff in a backpack beside him in the booth, and that was Opal couldn't sit by him when she came in with her dad.

"Hey Oli, hi Miss Belle."

"Hello Opal. I hear you got arrested." Mama smiled. Oliver couldn't tell an obvious difference after her therapy appointment, but his first appointment just gave him stuff to think about. She wasn't unhappy at least.

Opal rolled her eyes. "I wasn't _arrested_ , Mrs. Jones just brought me back to school. It's not even on my record."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that. French fry?"

Swiping one of Mama's fries, Opal grinned at Oliver. She was back to wearing her purple beanie, her hair tied in a messy ponytail that was coming undone so little curls and strands were tucked behind her ears. "Wanna guess what we did today? We took Sam to the vet."

"Sam?" Oliver blinked. "As in the imaginary cat your brothers have? He's a real cat?"

"Yup. I was surprised too. And get this, _she's_ gonna have babies in a few more weeks. Dr. Doolittle said she's in good condition considering Peter and Joseph were feeding her peanut butter and dad's canned food stuff. Mom says before we keep her we've gotta make sure nobody's missing a cat though, so we've gotta go by the animal shelter after lunch. So, what's new with you? I mean, y'know, other than that godawful bruise I hope you got walking into a door."

Oliver pulled his backpack onto his lap so Opal could sit down, which she did. She didn't steal his fries because he'd squirted ketchup directly on them, and she didn't dip fries in ketchup because she was a weirdo like that. "It was Hook, but-"

"That creep actually hit you?" Opal's eyebrows rose up.

"Yeah, but he's been sacked, Papa's trying to press charges, and Tink knocked him out. And dragged him through the snow. I think Garrick's keeping the hook she took off his arm stump, so I'd say that he didn't get away with it exactly."

Opal grinned. "That's so cool. So you got that magic lesson thingie today, right? Is Robbi gonna be there?"

"Uh, I guess so. She lives there."

Opal fished something out her jacket pocket, a slip of paper folded into quarters, and passed it to Oliver. "She forgot this at my house Monday. She had to sit in the principal's office waiting on her aunt, and she was writing recipes down from magazines. I figured she didn't know she'd lost it yet."

"I'll get it back to her. So...Robbi was at your house, and you were okay with that?" As far as Oliver knew, she only put up with Robbi, (on her best behavior at that,) because Garrick had made friends with her. She could be polite up until Robbi rubbed her the wrong way, but that was probably a habit from Robbi's previous life as Zelena's captive daughter.

"Meh. We were okay." Opal shrugged. "I think it's 'cause she got away from her mom. Get this: They didn't have any board games, no TV, she decided Robbi wouldn't like a root beer float without ever letting her try it, and this is the first birthday outside of school or the Nolans' that she's ever been allowed to. No wonder she used to act so weird. She never got to do anything! I mean she thought it was a neat idea to have family pictures hanging up, she didn't even have those."

Definitely a captive daughter then. Wow.

Mama made a face, unhappy at first, then more thoughtful. "Hmm...you know, I think I can help with that. Well the pictures at least. Henry was a bit of a shutterbug when he was Robbi's age, he might just have some good pictures she'd like to see. I'll ask him about it, I've got errands to run around town today."

True, there was only about thirteen or so years of uncursed history to Storybrooke, but a lot had happened between then and now. It was neat seeing the world before you were born, especially in a town like Storybrooke where anything could happen. And often times did.

Opal had to go with her dad then, and it was about time they left too. Oliver had Robbi's paper thing in his pocket as Mama walked him to the door of Regina's big white house. It always looked kind of cold on the outside, but maybe that was just because it was so monochromatic. Inside it was pretty stark too, but there were some more colorful knick-knacks laying around, too. A horse sculpture, a blown-glass apple, a nice grassy landscape painting hanging on the living room wall with some of those family pictures Opal mentioned earlier. Since these were Regina's, they had a lot of the Nolans, Henry, and Emma in them. Maybe she'd purposefully picked pictures that didn't have Hook in them. Probably.

Regina had good taste like that.

She welcomed then in and told Oliver to head to the living room. Mama stayed behind, and Oliver heard her say something about those pictures. That sounded like it was going to be a very cool project, but for now he was focusing on this magic lesson. What was he supposed to do?

"Hi Oliver." Robbi greeted, sitting on the white leather couch, wearing dark pants and a shirt with tiny black hearts printed all over it. "If you want a snack later, we've got cookies in the kitchen."

He'd definitely check that out later. For now, though, Oliver gave her the paper with her recipes. "Here," he said. "Opal said you left this at her house."

"Oh! I was looking for that. I must've put it down when I grabbed my coat."

"Hey, did you see their cat Monday?" Oliver asked, sitting down on the other couch. There was some stuff spread out on the table, vials and a round lid and some spoons. Yeah, that didn't make his lesson plan any clearer.

"You mean the pretend one?"

"Well, yeah, but turns out it's not-so-imaginary. And is having kittens."

Robbi's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Wow. Do they get to keep them?"

"I didn't ask that...I should've though," Oliver hummed. "I dunno. Maybe they'll ask the pet shelter what to do, I think Opal said they were going there. I'm kinda surprised it's a real cat though. I was wondering if maybe Peter and Joseph weren't playing with a raccoon. So...um, what are we doing with the spoons?"

Robbi picked one up. "I think we're gonna try bending then with out minds. Maybe. Aunt Regina was gonna try teaching us to light candles, but then she decided it was a bad idea. I think she wants us to start with those vial thingies first off, but I know what this dome is for. I've been practicing this trick. See, there's a pyramid underneath it..."

* * *

Moe had some centerpieces ordered by the Hermans for their banquet, as well as a few other events people were hosting around Heritage Day on the fifteenth. It wasn't this Saturday, but next Saturday. He also had the usual bouquets and things to tend to, and he'd just filled the refrigerator case at the front of the shop with some premade arrangements in case people needed some flowers to-go.

That was when the door opened, and instead of a customer, Belle stepped in.

He hadn't seen her since Tuesday night in the diner when she was being so damnably unreasonable. He'd thought she'd finally stopped wasting time on that beast she'd married, but obviously she'd suffered a lapse in judgement if she were eating dinner with him. And to top it all off, his spawn, Oliver, was turning out to be just like his father. From running away to attacking people. If the boy had been around the Blue Fairy's fairies since birth, they might've stood a chance at weeding the darkness out of him.

If only she'd listen to him for once!

Moe never should have let her go off with the bloody Dark One all those years ago. Avonlea was in dire straits, true, but surely they could have figured something out. Perhaps they could have petitioned the Blue Fairy, or made an alliance with someone like Regina. Sure, she was the Evil Queen and all that, but Snow White wasn't in their kingdom and even the Evil Queen was better than Ogres, wasn't she?

But no. He'd agreed to Belle's mad idea to summon the Dark One. She was grieving her mother, she'd just come back from an upsetting, unsupervised adventure, and Moe shouldn't have conceded to such a dangerous idea in the first place. Belle was such an emotional girl, always jumping headfirst into things she didn't understand. Defending juvenile Ogres, summoning demons. He should have gone in her place. Sent someone in her place. Sent more men to rescue her from the Dark One's clutches before he entrapped her with whatever spells held her fast to his side! Anything!

He'd hoped that the Blue Fairy would have helped to straighten this mess out, but perhaps she hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"Did you talk to the Blue Fairy?" Belle asked, her face inscrutable.

Well. Maybe she had after all...

"I did." Moe nodded, putting a bouquet of carnations in the water buckets in the case and wiping his hands dry on his jeans. "Did she speak to you? I had asked her to help with Oliver's problem."

Belle pressed her lips together, and for a moment, she looked just like her mother when Colette had been displeased. And she had been on occassion, and Moe remembered having to work hard at getting out of the dog house when that face was turned on him. Sometimes he regretted marrying such a strong-willed thing. She'd given birth to an equally strong-willed daughter that was much harder for Moe to figure out. A son would have been so much simpler!

Of course with a son, he'd never have ended up with the Dark One's offspring as a grandson...

"As a matter of fact, she did talk to me. And I spent the last two days trying to come up with the right words to explain, to you, how I felt about it."

Well, that could only go two ways. Gratitude or more of that irrational outrage. Moe waited, seeing which it would be. Personally he was hoping for the former, or at least understanding. He was getting very tired of Belle rearing up against him when he was just trying to keep her from making herself miserable again-

"And the only ones I can think of are just these: _What the hell_?"

Irrational, then.

Moe sighed, walking to the back to grab the watering can. "Belle, don't be like this. I'm only trying to help-"

"Do you know what your 'help' did Papa?" Belle followed him to the back, her heels clicking angrily on the floor and her hands on her hips. "The Blue Fairy showed up at a school meeting advocating to dehumanize every child with a hint of magic in their blood!"

"You're overreacting, Belle, calm down. This is the Blue Fairy. Oliver made a serious mistake, but she wouldn't dehumanize a child. Look, I just don't want to see you hurt, we have to protect people from this kind of danger."

Belle stopped in front of him in the passage between the front and back, her hands on her hips. He was nearly half a foot taller than she was, but with her arms akimbo and fire in her eyes, it seemed much harder to pass her by. "The only danger is that kind of thinking, and I'm not overreacting! Don't change the subject, I want to know the truth, Father. When did you tell the Blue Fairy about what happened on Monday?"

Moe saw no reason he should lie. "On Monday. Before the storm. Sheriff Nolan came here looking for Oliver and said-"

Belle shut her eyes. "Damn it!" she hissed, turning around and stomping back for the door. Wait. Was she just leaving? Just like that? Well she wasn't slowing down, and she was certainly reaching for the door.

"Belle. Belle. Belle, wait, what's going on? What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" She spun around, and Moe took a step back from where he'd been right behind her. "What am I doing? I'm leaving! I'm leaving because you don't care about me, just what I do! You don't care if I'm upset, or hurt, or frightened, you just care how I act about it! Well I am sorry I have a son I love very much even if my marriage is all screwed up, and I'm so damned sorry I listened to people like you and screwed it up in the first place! You're my father and I'll always love you for that, but as a person, I can't stand to even look at you!"

Moe opened his mouth...but he couldn't get a sound out. He didn't understand what conclusions Belle had jumped to. He'd only gone to the Blue Fairy, he hadn't done anything wrong, just informed her what happened. Why was she being so...so angry? Couldn't she see that he was trying to protect her from harm?

Before he could convince Belle of this, though, she had turned away with a disgusted look on her face and glistening eyes. The only sign she had been there at all was the violently jangling bell above the door.

Well...fine. She was too upset to speak right now anyway. Perhaps he'd try again after she'd had some time to cool down. For now, it was back to floral business as usual...

* * *

The very first exercise of magic Gold had started Regina out on was to first figure out how to reach for her magic. The pyramid test was a good beginner's test, but if you didn't know how to reach for your power, how were you going to use it? In lieu of the crystals Gold had given her that lit up when she channeled energy into them, Regina found a tiny pouch of fairy dust in her vault and put a tiny pinch in each of two vials. It would still light up if Oliver or Robbi succeeded, but the amount and containment would mean no unexpected...consequences.

Excellent.

Both Robbi and Oliver flunked getting the pyramid trinket to teleport, so Regina gave them each a vial and sat them on separate couches, and tried coaching them on what to do. So far, all evidence pointed towards Oliver only tapping his inner magic under duress, and they weren't sure if Robbi had any powers herself yet, so this should work well for both of them in different ways.

Hopefully they'd take her seriously since Regina was demonstrating her point with a salt shaker she'd picked up in the kitchen.

"The point of this exercise to learning what magic feels like. It makes it easier to reach for it, or to keep it contained, if you know what you're working with." She held up the salt shaker, and Robbi did the same. "Focus on the contents of the vials. Not so much with your eyes, but with your mind. Your heart. Fairy dust feels a bit ticklish, you'll know it when you find it. But please don't try channeling anything into it if you get frustrated or angry. It won't react, and god knows that will only make you more frustrated. I've been there. Just take a break and come back to the damned thing."

(Was she supposed to say damned? Well it was still true. Meh, they were an average age of ten, they could hear a 'damn' without being scarred.)

"Um, will anything happen by accident?" Oliver asked, eyeing the sparkly pink dust sticking to the glass.

"Not in those vials, it'll only light up. I promise." Regina nodded, and just for show, she made the salt glow a dim shade of red. "When you find the dust, focus on it. Think of something positive, something that makes you feel like...like light. Magic is seventy-five percent intention, twenty percent execution, and five percent luck. Remember the point to this lesson is tapping into your magic, we're not trying anything fancy. It's just like learning the alphabet before you learn to read, you have to know the elementary principles before you put them to use. Now are there any questions?"

"Are those real statistics or figurative ones?"

"Ask your father. Any others?"

Oliver pursed his lips, then asked, "Papa said magic has smells? I mean, like everyone is different?"

Regina supposed that was true. She'd never paid much mind beyond using that factor to identify someone before, she couldn't explain what her two charges would smell like. "Um...we'll cover that once you have this skill down. That comes in later." _'Once I have time to bullshit an answer...'_

The next half hour was spent without much luck. Oliver had switched hands, tried closing his eyes, using both hands, sitting it on the coffee table without touching it. Robbi switched hands and shut her eyes too, she'd also asked to switch vials with Oliver, and had to walk off because she'd given herself a headache. Regina couldn't say they _weren't_ making progress though. She hadn't gotten those crystals to light up until she'd had about a full hour of trying, and even then it came and went for the next week. This was very much a case of practice making perfect.

When Robbi came back, she had some cookies on a little plate, and a few napkins. She must have decided to bring the snacks in here. Regina circled around to collect one of the cookies with apple butter filling, and smiled to herself. Maybe magic would never be Robbi's forte, but that was okay. She had plenty of other skills, baking being the frontrunner.

Oliver set his vial down and got himself a treat. "What're these?"

"Thumbprint cookies." Robbi answered, puffing up a little bit, balancing her vial in one hand and a cookie in the other, careful that her crumbs should fall on her napkin spread on her lap. "It's a sugar cookie you poke with your thumb when they're hot out the oven, and you fill the dip with stuff. We used apple butter in most of them, but there's another plate with strawberry jam if you'd rather try those."

Oliver bit the cookie in half, humming. "Tastes fine to me. Is this a recipe?"

"Nope," Regina wiped her fingers clean on a napkin of her own. "It was Robbi's idea to use the apple butter, a very good idea."

Robbi smiled shyly, looking down at the vial with a reddening face. Regina was no Snow White, she wasn't going to bubble with praise in front of anyone with ears about Robbi's talents, so she left it at that. And debated whether or not she should have another cookie or two, when Oliver suddenly whooped.

"Hey you did it!"

"Oh. Oh!" Robbi gasped, gaping at the tiny colored light in her hand. "I did! I did it! Look, look!"

Regina grinned, leaning closer to look at her achievement. Sure enough, the fairydust in the vial was glowing away, a twinkling reddish-orange spark like a setting sun. It was surprising that it wasn't green, really, but Regina liked red much more than the purple color of smoke her magic emitted, so it wasn't too surprising. After a few seconds though, it started fading out and Robbi shook the vial, her eyes widening.

"Wait, wait, wait, no, no, no!"

"It's okay, that's totally normal Robbi," Regina put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "You're just starting out, this is totally normal. It takes practice to sustain the glow. For now, did you feel anything new? Do you remember how it felt?"

"Um...n-not really..." Robbi answered slowly. "I, um, I wasn't thinking about it. I think I felt the tickling thing, but I'm not sure..."

Oliver made a face down at his vial. "Well I can't feel anything, so you're still better off than me..." he reached for a cookie with a free hand, "I'm gonna try eating another cookie, just in case."

Sadly, the cookies didn't have magical properties. For the rest of the hour, Oliver had been unsuccessful in getting his vial to glow. (To be fair, neither had Robbi again either.) He'd even gone into the bathroom and shut off the light, just in case it was too faint to see in a well-lit room, but this was not the case. Regina was considering a blindfold, thinking that maybe Oliver was looking too much with his eyes and not his heart, when Henry showed up to take Oliver home with him. They were keeping the lessons short for now, because Regina didn't feel confident in her patience just yet and she didn't want to frustrate either kid, and an hour seemed to be close to Oliver's limit since he was making scowly faces like Rumple now.

"I bet it's 'cause it's fairydust," she'd heard him mutter once. "Blue and her fairies hate me, their dust probably does too..."

Because she'd doused the tiny vial in charms, Regina let him take it with him, encouraging him to practice with the firm rule that he was not to take it anywhere outside either house. Just in case Blue or Hook or Snow got all twitchy about it. Oliver agreed and went to use the restroom before he left, which gave Henry a minute alone in the hall.

"So. Belle came by to ask about pictures?"

"Ah. Right, that." It was something she mentioned when she dropped off Oliver. And it wasn't a bad idea, Regina just didn't know where to start. "I don't suppose you have any pictures she'd be interested in?"

"I'm an Author, not an Illustrator. But I'll see what I can turn up. I think Gold said he might have something you'd want, but I don't know what he's got. He's got to find it, but he'll try to bring it around Sunday at the party."

Of course Gold had something. Didn't he always? Still...it would be interesting to see what he'd turn up. Actually, this whole damned party was going to be an experience with this guest list: The Dark One, the Evil Queen, Pinocchio, assorted children, a man-cricket and his dog...it was going to be a busy Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have been expecting more from Belle washing her hands of Moe. I personally found it more interesting to write this from his POV, because of one reason: He doesn't get it. He can't save Belle because she isn't in a position that needs saving, she just needs him to respect her choices. Which he can't, so, he loses a lot more than he'd realize he would. Shame.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be one chapter. It refused to be wrapped up in one chapter. My bad. :)

Oliver had come home from Regina's lesson with some cookies wrapped in a napkin and tucked in one pocket, and a tiny vial that looked empty at first glance in the other. He brought both out shortly after arriving, and while Rumple picked up a treat, he'd been slightly more interested in the vial.

"It's got a little bit of fairy dust in it," he explained. "Regina said I'd be able to make it glow when I was reaching for magic right. But I haven't so far."

Rumpelstiltskin vaguely remembered starting Regina out with a similar exercise. Zelena had been able to reach out for magic as easily as breathing, but Regina found it harder at first, hence the magic crystals that didn't do anything but light up. They were elven torch crystals, used as an "eco-friendly" light source that emitted no heat or smoke, and consumed no wood. He didn't have them anymore, they got lost between worlds, but he was impressed by Regina's practical substitute.

His skin prickled when Oliver passed the vial to him, surprised that he could feel it. His former pupil must have _smothered_ the tiny piece of glass in wards and charms to keep the dust from reacting with anything outside the vial. Very impressive.

"Hmm...well, I wouldn't be discouraged just yet, my boy. It took Regina an hour of trying, and a full week before she got the trick down."

"Robbi got it in half an hour." Oliver didn't sound put out, simply stating a fact.

"Did she? Hmm. Miss Mills has the benefit of magic being as natural as a liking for apples in her genes. Cora took to it like a duck to water, and her eldest daughter seems to have been born with it. More importantly, your progress is entirely your own, not to be measured against anyone else. You'll get there eventually, my boy."

His son nodded, but didn't seem inclined to practice for the rest of the evening. He took the vial back up to his room, and presumably packed it among his things when he left with Belle Saturday afternoon. Rumpelstiltskin didn't pay it too much mind until Sunday morning, while he was shaving in preparation for Garrick's birthday party. It was the tingle of his aftershave that made him remember the prickly feel of the air around the vial. He should have asked Oliver if he could feel it. If Rumpelstiltskin, stripped of his powers and reverted to a mortal, could feel those wards, surely his son could.

Perhaps he'd bring it up later. For now, he needed to dress. He'd gotten a haircut yesterday, not at the barbershop so much as using a Wahl trimmer he'd employed for the task since before Oliver was born. It had been getting a bit long for his taste, and starting to lay flat and grown in soft, faint waves at his nape. Once he was fully suited and adjusting his cufflinks, though, he felt a bit more put together.

It was kind of Tinker Bell to invite him, even if it was just to frighten her ex. Father of child. Was he an ex? Oh well. Rumpelstiltskin was there because he'd been openly invited, and to possibly give August Booth/Pinocchio a fright.

This might be a very good day.

* * *

Belle wasn't second-guessing her chosen outfit, her choice to ride with Rumple out to Marco's, or anything she thought she would. The only thing she was second-guessing was her plan on how she would act towards Rumple.

She had decided, when she heard that Rumple had been invited, to take this opportunity to work on that all-consuming nervous energy she had around him nowadays. She didn't need to do anything extreme. She'd just be polite, hold a simple, inoffensive conversation without dragging it out for too long, and excuse herself if it got too much for either of them. Simple, straightforward, but flexible. Good.

And then she sat in the front passenger seat at eleven, their scheduled pick-up time, and she totally blanked.

The car smelled like him, and he looked so unfairly, devastatingly handsome. Charcoal suit, violet shirt with pale gray pinstripes and a navy tie, hair trimmed, freshly shaven. Belle felt that, when faced with all that, she could be forgiven for forgetting her strategy until they were halfway there, at which point Oliver, wearing a royal blue shirt and a gold clip-on tie, had broached the subject of their respective presents.

She and Oliver had acquired the first set in the Percy Jackson series. Saga. Belle wasn't sure what you'd call it, a franchise maybe? It was the first five books anyway, for Garrick to read at home without borrowing Oliver's.

(Oliver didn't loan books to Garrick, not since his copy of Peter Rabbit came back dog-eared.)

Rumple had wrapped a record from the shop. Phil Collins, No Jacket Required. Oliver said Garrick had been looking at it for ages, apparently he liked this artist. Belle wasn't terrible up to date on the music of this world, but she recognized the name from somewhere. He'd done songs in a Disney movie or two, maybe, she just couldn't remember which.

When they arrived, they were second to Leroy and Astrid and theirs, and Archie and Figaro. Garrick met them at the door in a bright green plaid shirt and khaki-colored trousers, and a huge grin.

"Hi! I can take those presents inside if you want."

Rumple almost handed his record over, (wrapped in a flat box to disguise it's shape a bit,) before Belle reached a hand out without thinking and placed it on his wrist. She was just a second before Tink appeared at the door, turning her son away from the door by his shoulders.

"Stop trying to shake the birthday presents!"

"Aw Mom!"

"Aw nothing! What if you break something delicate while you're trying to figure out what it is?"

"Why?" Garrick blinked. "Did somebody get me plates?"

Oliver and Garrick slipped off inside, (well...Tink kind of pushed Garrick,) and Belle belatedly removed her arm from Rumple's person as the fairy at the door turned to them with a smile.

"Sorry about that, Garrick likes to shake the presents to see if he can guess what it is. Come on in. We've got sandwiches and things on the table, there's glasses and drinks in the kitchen, and I will take those from you. And if you want to see what we did with Hook's hook, that's also in the kitchen."

The hook had been mounted to the wall by the sink, Belle saw when she went to see about a glass of iced tea. (There was nothing stronger...probably for the best.) Screwed pointy-side up there in the drywall with a bright yellow dishrag hanging on it, it looked like an innocent towel holder. Belle found herself thinking it was a much better place for it than on the end of a man's arm.

Marco was in the kitchen, and smiled proudly at the new feature while he put some ice in Belle's cup. "It doesn't look half bad, yes? There's a threaded base at the bottom I suppose goes into an arm brace, just the right size to go in a drywall anchor. Garrick helped me put it in during the snowstorm after his mother brought him home."

"Ah. And I was wondering if he was going to put it over the mantle like a trophy."

"He made a case for himself, but I did not want to look at it quite so often up there." Marco shook his head. "This way it has purpose. A kinder purpose."

Belle had to agree. She took her tea and left, looking around the living room. Marco had a very open floorplan on the ground floor, the dining room and the living room were only divided because of the clear distinction between couch and armchair versus table and chairs. Some people were sitting at the table with plates filled by the food on the table, others were standing and talking, some were in the living room. Archie was sitting on the sofa near the coffee table that had the presents on it, presumably guarding them from being shaken. There was a box on the table that was larger than the rest, wrapped in newspaper, that caught Belle's eye but she had no idea what could be in that one.

The first person to talk to Belle while she was looking at the options on the table was Astrid, wearing a rose-pink cardigan and a long skirt past her knees. "Hi! So, how are you doing after last week?"

"I'm doing...okay, I think. Better than I would expect. I hear you've got an expectant mother?"

Astrid sighed, but smiled fondly. "I'm thankful they didn't play with a rabid skunk, so a pregnant, non-rabid cat is nothing. She's perfectly healthy though, the vet was impressed. We've already had to tell Peter and Joseph they can't keep all the kittens, but we're keeping Sam. The only person to identify her was Jefferson, and he said he'd be happy to keep a kitten since Sam was so happy where she was. He thought she was feral, she doesn't like him very much."

"Well that's nice. I mean that he won't try to take the cat, not that she hates him. When is she having them anyway?"

"Um...five weeks, I think? A bit more than a month at least. I don't suppose you know anyone interested in adopting a kitten later?"

"Not yet, but I will ask around." Belle promised. "I'll talk to Violet and see if she can help. They're putting puppies in the-Oh damn it!"

Suddenly Peter stuck his little head from under the table and waggled his finger at her. "That's a bad word."

Joseph peeked out too. "Did you stub your toe?"

Belle was given pause by why they were under the dining room table, and so was their mother. Astrid knelt down to their level, lifting up the edge of the tablecloth. "Boys? What are you doing under there?"

"Sitting."

"I can see that, but why _under_ there?"

Peter crawled out and stood up, picked a sandwich off a tray, and crawled back under. "It's where the foods are."

"Oh. Well, use plates and napkins please, don't spill on Mr. Marco's floors."

"We won't!" came the twin reply before both boys disappeared again.

"You were saying Belle?"

What was she saying? Oh. Right. "The Heritage Day Festival is this Saturday, I almost forgot. I've got to get in touch with Granny, and Sir Morgan-Oh, it figures that while I'm on top of the unusual stuff I've forgotten about the normal things!"

"Um, well...better late than never?" Astrid suggested with a shrug. "Is Mr. Gold pitching anything in this year?"

Actually... "I haven't asked him yet..." Belle bit her lip, glancing around.

Rumple was on the other end of the sofa from Archie, scratching Figaro's ears. Marco had taken a seat in his armchair and they seemed to be having a conversation, and she was loathe to interrupt his socializing. It was a good thing if he was talking to others without that tightly-sealed poker face he used when he wanted to keep his distance. She couldn't just cut in, not right now-

"Maybe you could ask Robbi if she wants to help."

Belle blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Robbi. She bakes," Astrid said, making a gesture Belle thought _might_ be imitating a rolling pin. Maybe. "I mean you should probably check with Regina, but I think that's something she likes doing. She was talking about brownies with Opal while we had her over. It sounds like she knows what she's on about."

"Oh. Well, I guess I could ask her later too. Um, speaking of, where is Opal?"

Astrid looked around. "Um...that's a good question...where did those three go?"

* * *

Garrick's grandfather didn't have a basement, but he used his garage like a workshop. The sawdust was mostly swept up and some projects had sheets over them to keep the dust down so Garrick wasn't sneezing all the time, and he had a dust mask he could wear otherwise. Oliver kind of liked that two-by-four smell, and he didn't sneeze green glitter, so he didn't have to wear one.

For his birthday this morning, Marco had given Garrick a toolbox of his own. There was lots of extra space, but there was also a hammer, flathead and phillip's head screwdrivers, sandpaper, nails, and some bandages, and rubber gloves Garrick said they had to use for varnishes and sealants. All the tools were a bit smaller than full-size, so they were easier to hold. It was a neat present for a junior woodworker.

"Man, this is really cool." Opal grinned, looking at the hammer. (Garrick had already turned all the handles green.) "What are you gonna try them out on?"

"I dunno yet," Garrick shrugged. "Grandpa might have something I could try. Or maybe I could build a birdhouse."

"Why would you wanna do that? We've already made like three in school. One in the first week, one for Christmas, and the ones we did recently that Oli painted on fire and Mrs. Nolan thought it was flowers."

"That one's my favorite." Oliver smiled.

"Well, I don't know what else is easy to make. And maybe I'll make a cool birdhouse. Like a birdapartment building or something." Garrick said. "I don't know yet. Did either of you guys get me a broken clock maybe?"

"Nope."

"Nuh-uh."

"Darn."

After marvelling over his tools for a bit longer, they heard a noise that took Oliver a second to recognize. There were other motorcycles in Storybrooke, but most of them didn't run in the winter because it was so darned cold. And they wouldn't come up to Marco's house, either...

When the engine cut off, Garrick closed the lid on his toolbox. "I think that's my dad..."

He left the garage slowly, Oliver and Opal trailing behind him. Inside the house, his mom must've been by the door already because she wasn't in the room. Marco beckoned him over, and they walked towards the door. That was where they didn't feel they could follow Garrick though. This seemed kind of...personal.

"What's his dad look like?" Opal whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen pictures."

"I dunno. Not much like Garrick though?" He had never seen Garrick look so nervous about facing someone before, and they'd once had to tell Tink they broke off one of the mirrors on her car door.

"My dad once said it's a wonder Garrick doesn't have wings since his mom's a fairy and his dad flew the coop. I mean he was in a bad mood, and that's kinda rude and all, but do you think telling Garrick that might cheer him up if this goes south?"

"Eh...it's worth a shot?"

After a few minutes, or maybe less, Tink and Garrick came back from the front hall. She had a package in her hand, probably August's present. Garrick didn't look upset, (or much of anything really,) and Marco came in ahead of August, leading him back towards the kitchens where Oliver and Opal were standing in the way of.

Since Pinocchio had been carved from a block of wood, Oliver kind of figured that he wouldn't look much like Marco. But August Booth looked _nothing_ like Garrick, more so than Oliver was expecting. He was the average kind of tall, with short hair just a shade darker than Oliver's was, blue eyes, and some silver flecking his beard. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket still zipped up against the cold, and the only thing that looked vaguely right was how the corners of his mouth turned up when he smiled.

"Ah, children." Marco nodded. "This is my son, August. He hasn't seen you since you were quite small."

Marco was what you might call a gentleman. He very rarely had an unkind word to say about anyone, even if it was his son that had run off and abandoned his own kid in the process.

"Hey there," August said, nice enough. "So I guess you're Oliver, right? You look a lot like your mom, I'd know those eyes anywhere."

Oliver wouldn't say he got creepy vibes from August, but he didn't particularly feel like he liked him either. It was probably the mom comment. Mama had said she didn't know August very well, so he doubted this guy would know her eyes anywhere. Plus, with a shirt and tie, Oliver always looked like Papa. But August was holding his hand out, so he shook it to be polite. "Hey."

"And you're..." August paused, turning to Opal and offering her his hand. "Robbi Mills, right?"

"Wrong." Opal crossed her arms. She was wearing a pale peachy-colored sweater, dark blue jeans, boots, and a fuzzy white beret Mama gave her last Christmas so she'd have a fancy hat to wear. If Garrick mentioned Robbi to his dad, he was sure to have mentioned Robbi loved green. And maybe that she was a slightly taller blonde girl.

"Oh. Uh, Opal then. Yeah, that's right, you've got your dad's...uh...nose."

Behind him, Marco shook his head. Oliver agreed.

Joseph padded up and copied her, folding his arms while Opal snorted at the clumsy attempt to save face. "Sure. I bet you know lots about _noses_."

Attempting to lessen the awkwardness filling the air, August turned his attention to Joseph. At least...no, yeah, it was Joseph. They were both wearing little burgundy-and-gold plaid shirts and blue jeans, and if it hadn't been for Joseph's forelock you wouldn't be able to tell them apart whatsoever. "This must be one of your brothers, right? Let me guess, you're...Peter?"

"I'm Joseph." he shook his head.

" _I'm_ Peter."

August spun around to find the other twin standing behind him. "Whoa! So uh, nice to meet you. Too. What're you doing back there?"

"Lookin' for wings." Peter answered, craning his neck to get a look at August's back.

"For...what?"

"Wings." Joseph nodded, staring at the sleeves of his leather jacket. "You got any under your coat?"

"What?" August blinked. "Wings? I don't have any wings. Who told you that?"

"Daddy did."

"Yup. You flew the coop." Peter said simply, before Astrid hurried up and caught him by the hand. "So you gotta have wings."

Opal and Oliver giggled, but he tried to be quiet. It just didn't work so well. Marco coughed politely into his first, but you could see a little smile under his beard while August's face turned as pink as Astrid's sweater.

"Okay!" She said, taking Joseph's hand and leading them away. "Boys! Let's go find your dad, huh?"

"He's right there-"

"Is he? Well let's go over there and talk to him. C'mon, c'mon." And maybe Oliver imagined this, but he thought he heard her say; _"I need to have a talk with him too..."_

* * *

Tink had dropped on the couch between Gold and Archie. Garrick sat down on the floor by his grandfather's chair and welcomed Figaro with open arms when the dog trotted over and demanded attention. He seemed to be doing okay so far. But then, all that had happened so far was a two minute interaction.

August had a bit of gray in his beard, a few more lines in his face, and a new leather jacket, and had put on what she'd often thought of as his "default smile" when she opened the door. "Hi, sorry I'm running late. I got in late last night and there was a line at the drugstore this morning-"

"You're not late."

"I know I-Oh." He stopped apologizing, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Oops, my bad. So...hi."

The last time Tink had seen August face-to-face in person, she'd been telling him that she was going to work and they'd talk when she got back. They'd talk about what a prick he was being about Garrick showing signs of having some kind of magic. She wondered if he remembered that. Considering the package she'd asked talked over with Regina, he'd better have changed his opinion about that in the past nine years.

Tink looked down at the box in his hands. It was wrapped a little sloppily, but he brought it. She'd called him privately after inviting him and gave him a short list of options for presents, as the Legos had been immediately regifted last time. She didn't know what he had though, it was obviously something small. She probably should have asked-

The friendliness on August's face faltered as Tink heard footsteps behind her.

"Hello...son."

"Hey...Father." August shifted, looking down at the squared toes of his boots. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, I'm doing well." Marco nodded, looking down at Garrick. Her son was looking down at the tips of his own shoes, like he wasn't sure where to look. Then he did peek up. And August seemed to loose all his easy words.

"Uh...hey...um...you look...pretty big. Tall. How's, um, how's it going kid?"

"Um, s'okay." Garrick shrugged. "How're you?"

"Me? Oh. I'm fine, fine. Doing great. I actually bought a new bike recently, wanna have a look?"

Garrick looked to Tink. It wasn't quite a cry for help, but it was some form of request. She tried to smile in a non-bitchy manner when a part of her still really wanted to slam the door in August's stupid face before he got a foot in the door. "Actually, we're about to have cake. Maybe later?"

"Oh. Sure." He grinned, shifting the box under his arm. "I won't get in the way of a good piece of cake. Lead the way."

Once they'd gotten inside, Garrick followed Tink here to the living room. August seemed to try heading for the kitchens with Marco, but made the decision to stop and talk to Oliver and Opal. She couldn't catch what he said, but Opal crossed her arms in a very unimpressed manner. Then her little brothers crawled out from under the table, Joseph coming around front and Peter at his back. She wasn't sure what they said, either, but Astrid had to set down her plate and hurry to pull them away. Opal and Oliver had burst into a giggling fit at whatever it was, so...she'd ask later.

Or maybe now, since Astrid had shepherded the twins over here to where Leroy had was sitting on a dining room chair he'd dragged over. Her ears were red, and she fixed Leroy with the sternest look she could muster, which really wasn't too frightening at all. An angry Astrid was still an Astrid.

"Tell your sons that man does not have wings!" she whispered.

Leroy swallowed the bite of sandwich he had in his mouth. "What'd I do?" he asked, frowning.

"How do you fly if you don't got wings?" Peter asked, and Astrid made a 'that's what you did!' gesture that had Tink snickering. "Didn't you say he flew the coop Daddy?"

Garrick giggled, and Gold outright grinned. Archie was too sweet a person to laugh at someone else's embarrassment, but he looked like he was trying his best not to smile at the unfiltered mouths of the little boys. There were a handful of things Tink didn't miss about her son being that little, his propensity for blurting out any and everything was one of them. Ah well.

Leroy looked from his wife to his sons helplessly, which was almost funnier than the comment that started the giggling, but then Regina and Robbi arrived and Tink couldn't see how that little exchange went. Robbi was nervously shifting a gift bag from hand to hand until Tink took it from her and patted her shoulder. "Hello Robbi, how are you?"

"Um...good." She smiled nervously, wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress. Her hair had been left in a braid, and she had on her hiking boots. "Hi Garrick, I mean, happy birthday."

"Hi Robbi!" Garrick grinned. "Wanna see what my grandpa gave me this morning? It's out in the garage, c'mon!"

He whisked her away to the garage, and Oliver and Opal went out after them. So the Four Musketeers were together...that was _probably_ okay. Regina peeled off her gloves and coat, stashing the former in her pocket and stashing that in the coat closet. "We're running a little late. I had to stop by the hospital to tell Zelena we weren't coming today. I left Robbi in the car. Thank god."

"Oh. How did it go?"

Regina wrinkled her nose. "Oh fine. Fine. Just like trying to pet a feral lion. I think she understood that regardless of her temper tantrum, she'll only get to see Robbi tomorrow afternoon, but you can never tell. God...I don't know what to do with her anymore. It's like, the better Robbi gets, the worse Zelena does. But I refuse to put that little girl back where she was-Ugh, I don't know. I'll talk to Archie about it later. Not today though." She sighed, shaking her head. "Lord knows that man needs a break where he can find one."

Tink agreed, waving her arm towards the living room. "Well, come on. I don't have any wine, but we'll cut the cake as soon as you two have something to eat."

"Hmm. What kind of cake?"


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dad's birthday was this week, and other Stuff happened, so I haven't been very active this week. Or maybe I haven't felt like it...I don't know. I am signed up for the Rumbelle Revelry again though! Hurray for Halloween in August!
> 
> (That means I've been working at this story for nearly a year now...holy crap.)

So far, it was a pretty good birthday. After Garrick showed off his toolbox to his friends, they grabbed some peanuts and used them as bets in blackjack. Robbi turned out to be really, really lucky at blackjack and won three games in a row before Mom asked if they were ready for cake. Since Garrick had run out of peanuts rather quickly, he said yes very quickly. He didn't really like frosting, but the sticky glaze stuff was good on this lemon poundcake he got every year. His cake was never green, but the candles were, and while everyone was singing "Happy Birthday" Garrick tried to think of a wish before the wax dribbled on his cake.

Hmm...what to wish for...?

He wished that the Blue Fairy didn't lock anybody in the convent's dungeons for having magic. He wasn't sure if the convent actually had dungeons, but it looked like it could. Maybe. Best not take any chances, he decided, blowing out the candles.

Maybe Garrick didn't like frosting, but he did like ice cream, so got a scoop of chocolate and vanilla on his plate and found a spot at the table to eat. His dad ended up sitting down beside him, and his friends sat down on the other side. Robbi took the seat furthest from Dad, and picked her way through her cake. He'd almost forgotten how skittish she got around strangers, and Dad was probably the strangest of strangers since he didn't even live in Storybrooke anymore.

Dad had been talking to Grandpa mostly since he arrived. Archie spoke to him for a bit while they were playing blackjack, Garrick could see that. It wasn't that he was avoiding his father really...he just didn't know what to say...so he just stuck around his friends, until now. It seemed like Dad didn't know what to say, either, though. It was a nice thought, sorta, like maybe Garrick wasn't wrong for being totally lost.

He hadn't talked to Dad in a while, so he was kind of behind on current events. After some polite comments about how good the cake was, Dad asked if Phil was still giving Opal trouble. To Opal. And she didn't seem overly impressed by Dad, something he'd done earlier maybe. It wasn't that Dad was being rude or pushy or anything like that...it was just...well...he just didn't _know_.

"Phil got in trouble and got bumped up to fifth grade come Monday," Opal said, looking at Dad like he'd ask if the sky had always been blue.

"Oh? Well...that's good," Dad nodded. "How about Neal? He's a year older than you kids, more or less, right? Why isn't he in fifth grade?"

"He's got dyslexia," Oliver shrugged. "He's got trouble reading and writing. He had to repeat kindergarten because he couldn't keep up the first time he went through the first grade. Now, he's not gonna fail, but he's not getting ahead academically either."

"Ah...y'know it's weird, I didn't think Snow and Charming would've raised a bully. Maybe it's all that time he spends with the pirate." Dad frowned thoughtfully. "Is Emma still with him?"

"Yeah." Garrick nodded. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Opal mutter _"unfortunately..."_ to that, but he wasn't certain. "Cleo's their daughter."

"Cleo the girl that likes the peanut butter? I thought she was a friend of yours, how old is she?"

"She's seven, and I guess she's more Oliver's friend than mine, but that's her. She also likes Disney movies and bugs." It was a reminder at that moment that Dad had been gone well before Cleo was ever born. Garrick couldn't remember if anyone ever told him Ruby Lucas came back a few years ago...

"Bugs?" For some reason, that made Dad smile. "Huh. That figures. I can't quite see Emma Swan raising any damsels in distress, I'll bet she's a spitfire like her mom."

Opal made a rude noise that almost had Oliver choking on his ice cream. For a minute Garrick didn't know who Emma Swan was, before he remembered it was Emma Jones's maiden name. (Mom said she wasn't a maiden if she'd had Henry, so why'd she have to change her name?) Garrick certainly wouldn't call Cleo a damsel in distress, but he sure wouldn't call Mrs. Jones a spitfire either.

"Uh..."

"What?" Dad frowned again, confused. "Did I say something?"

"No, it's just, um...well...Mrs. Jones is just kind of...well she's not...um, that is she's-"

"A doormat?" Oliver suggested.

"A limp dishrag?" Opal offered.

"Yeah. Like that." Garrick agreed. "She's not much of a spitfire."

"Not much of a spitefire? Emma? Are you kidding?" Dad made a disbelieving little noise, but he also looked a little...concerned? "She was so stubborn it took Henry eating a poisoned apple turnover to convince her the curse was real! And then she grabbed a sword and slayed a freaking dragon, if that's not a spitefire, I don't know what is. What makes you think she's a pushover?"

Opal gestured at Oliver's bruised cheek with her spoon. It had turned a sickly brownish color, but hadn't really faded yet. "Well her precious pirate whacked Oli pretty good and threatened to shoot kill him and his dad, and all she did was try to hide it."

"Well, in a way I guess that was stubborn of her." Garrick shrugged...even if he didn't like it. At all. And Dad made a face like he didn't either. Maybe he used to be friends with Emma and knew her before she got married. Garrick had heard Mom say once that she'd warned Emma not to marry Hook, so maybe she did _used_ to be a spitfire.

That was even more sad to think about.

Mr. Gold appeared suddenly, an empty plate in his hand. "Excuse me, Miss Mills?" he asked, looking at Robbi who was still sitting very quiet and still. "Pardon me, but are you familiar with the Heritage Day Festival?"

"Um...sorta..." Robbi said slowly. Garrick couldn't rememer the last time he'd seen her at one, it might've been two or three years ago. Her mom must not've liked it very much. He got the feeling Robbi couldn't do anything unless her mother like it.

Mr. Gold was keeping a few steps back from her seat, and Garrick wasn't sure how he'd snuck up on them. He had a cane, and the floor was wooden, but Mr. Gold could be sneaky like a cat. Dad sure hadn't heard him, and he looked kind of like he was expecting a fireball at any moment actually. Garrick had never seen anybody use a fireball. It might be neat to see...if it wasn't pointed at someone. Maybe a fireplace.

"Miss Belle is talking about it over there with your aunt," Mr. Gold said, pointing with his plate across the room. "Every year she holds a bake sale for the library. Oliver tells me you've an interest in that sort of thing."

"In sales?" Robbi blinked.

Opal reached across Oliver and poked Robbi's arm with the handle of her spoon. "No! Baking! They sell like cookies and cake slices and stuff, you do the bake part, and Miss Belle and my mom handle the sale part."

"Really? I can do that. Um, I think..."

"You can totally do that." Garrick grinned. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? Robbi liked baking stuff, and liked not talking to strangers. It was perfect. "Do it!"

Oliver nodded. "It's real easy, just ask Mama what she needs. Granny always bakes cake, and Ruby always makes chocolate chip cookies, but you can go from there."

Robbi nodded slowly. "Okay...okay."

"What's Heritage Day?" Dad asked. Oh. Garrick almost forgot he was still there. Oops. "Is that like that Miner's Day thing?"

Mr. Gold smiled at him. Only it wasn't a nice smile, it was the fake kinda smile grownups wore when they didn't like somebody. "Good afternoon Mr. Booth, you're looking well. Remarkably...healthy skin."

Dad swallowed. "Y-yes. Thank you. What, uh, what are you doing here Gold?"

"I invited him." Mom came over, putting a hand on Garrick's shoulder. "Speaking of guests, Peter's trying to peek in your gift bags, by the way. Are you almost ready to open your presents?"

Garrick looked down at his plate. He had two melty bites of ice cream left, and soggy crumbs. Plus, with one adult always sitting around the present table, Garrick hadn't even gotten as close as Peter had to his presents yet... "Yup. I'm ready."

He sat on the floor by the table, so he could just reach up and grab something. He wasn't sure what to pick first, but the big box wrapped in newspaper looked promising.

"Open this one last," Mom said, patting the box. "Everything else? Go for it. Shake lightly."

Darn. Well...Garrick opened the flatish box Mr. Gold had brought. Maybe it was a big square book. Or a little painting. Or a new checkerboard. Ripping the paper off and opening up the lid, he found it wasn't close to any of those things.

"Alright! Thanks Mr. Gold!" Garrick grinned, flipping the No Jacket Required record over to admire the front.

He'd been looking at this in Gold's Pawnshop for ages. Oliver must've told his dad about that, but that didn't matter since it was now in Garrick's possession. Mom liked music from this world, she had songs downloaded on her phone, but she also had lots of vinyl records which sounded cooler. Mom said most of the songs on this album had helped calm Garrick down when he was a baby that cried at night, so maybe that was why he liked Phil Collins so much. They didn't have any of his records though, at least until now.

"Ah," Mr. Gold cleared his throat, shifting where he stood uncomfortably, kinda like Oliver did when he was put on the spot at school. "You're quite welcome."

Garrick carefully set the record back in the box before moving on to the next present. Robbi's bag. Her aunt gave him a twenty-five dollar giftcard to the craft store, and Robbi came through with the knitting needles, and a bonus of greeny-gray yarn. Nice. Oliver and Miss Belle gave him a full set of Percy Jackson and the Olympians books, Opal's family had given him a set of acrylic paints and some neat brushes, Mom had a sleeping bag he was definitely trying out tonight on his bedroom floor, Archie gave him a chinese checkers set that was really cool. It played the same way as, uhh, regular checkers, but it allowed for more players. That was really cool.

And then it came time to open Dad's present, which was badly wrapped with polka-dotted paper over a smaller box than the mystery present. Garrick gave it a shake, and he thought Dad winced, so maybe he shouldn't have done that. Hmm...

Mom cut the tape with her pocket knife and Garrick peered inside the box. Bubble wrap. Lots of it. All folded around a...

"A box?"

A wooden box, technically. It could fit in one hand, but it felt better in both. It was small, a light, reddish-brown color with a moon and stars cut out on the lid. It felt kinda heavier than it looked, oh, there was a little silvery handle on the side.

"Turn the crank." Dad made a rotating motion with his hand.

Garrick did, and jumped when a tinny, plinking sound filled the air. It was a music box, but not like the kind with the turn-key that kept playing. Garrick had to keep turning the crank for the song to play. It sounded familiar, pretty, but he couldn't quite place the tune. "What is it?"

"It's a music box."

"Well...yeah...but what's it playing?" Garrick tilted his head. It didn't have any words written on it, or under it.

"Oh. It's 'Fly Me To The Moon', you know, Sinatra." Dad shrugged, looking as conscious as Mr. Gold had at the eyes turning on him. "I found them at this little shop in New York on my way over. It was either that or 'You Are My Sunshine', 'Hey Jude', or something from the, um, The Nutcracker, I think it was?"

Garrick turned the crank again. _Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars...let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars._ That was from one of Grandpa's records he'd had in the house before Garrick moved in. Not all the words made sense, like a lot of songs actually, but it sounded very pretty, especially on the music box. "I like this one," he smiled. "Thank you. You wanna see it Grandpa?"

Grandpa reached out from his armchair to take the tiny box and look at it, while Garrick turned his attention to the big box. It was much, much, much lighter than it looked. There was just a piece of scotch tape holding the lid down, so Garrick peeled it off and looked inside. There was more newspaper backed around a big shoebox like the kind work boots were sold in. And inside that was a...

"You got me Sno Balls?" Garrick asked, looking down at the snack cake box sitting there inside the shoe box. "Um...thank you?"

Robbi's aunt looked about as confused as Garrick did, but also like she was trying not to laugh. Opal was laughing, and she made a "go on" sweep with her hands. Maybe she wanted him to give her a Sno Ball. He sure wasn't gonna eat them. Why would you ruin a good chocolate cake by covering it with pink coconut? Only when he picked up that box, it was too light, too, and the end was tapped shut. And something inside was rattling around.

"What gives?" he asked, half-expecting another box when he shook out this one. Instead, a little glass bottle stoppered with a cork fell on the rug.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was having a relatively pleasant time at this party. He'd spoken to people and recieved polite conversation back, had startled August at least once, and seen his son having a nice time with his friends like a happy, normal child without a care in the world. He had even spoken to Belle without his palms sweating.

Mostly.

Belle had surprised him a bit. He was talking to Regina, who was not at all confident that she was teaching the basics right. For all Rumpelstiltskin would admit Regina had serious skills as a sorceress, she was also impatient, hard-headed, and easily frustrated in her youth. She had been so focused on advancing she hadn't retained _how_ he'd taught her the basics. Which he privately thought was a blessing as she described how the first magic lesson went. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't particularly cared for Regina more than as a pawn when they first met, he'd pushed her just as hard as she'd been willing to throw herself into the arms of darkness. And they both wanted better for their respective charges than that fate.

Belle slipped in, holding a plate of cake. Talk of Robbi's success twice with the little vial led into talk of Robbi's confidence, (artfully avoiding Zelena as a topic altogether, Rumpelstiltskin had noticed,) and then Belle brought up the possibility of involving the girl in the library's bake sale. Regina seemed to think that was a good idea. Oliver had brought home cookies from his lesson, the apple filling had made Rumpelstiltskin think they were Regina's doing, but apparently the youngest Mills girl had some fondness for baking. He was a bit surprised at how pleased that made him, since he'd never given _Robin Cora Mills_ much thought other than to avoid her mother at all costs.

Perhaps if he were more sentimental, he'd consider it was the little lost boy he once was approving of finding a hobby all your own to put your horrible parent behind you. Spinning helped him, perhaps the kitchen was Miss Mills' escape. Either way, Belle would talk to Robbi later about the bake sale. Then she turned to him.

"Would you like to?"

"Pardon?"

Belle's little smile faltered a moment. "I, um, I was wondering if you'd like to help, with the bake sale? I'll have to get a list of who's making what and-I mean you don't have to help of course, you have a lot on your plate already I just-Um, I mean...I'm just asking."

Rumpelstiltskin felt his stomach flipping in his belly. He was grateful then that he'd only eaten one triangular sandwich and a small piece of poundcake. Belle didn't ask him to participate in her bake sale every year, the last time she'd asked him conversationally like this had been four years ago. Two years ago Oliver had mentioned Ruby taking ill with something her daughter brought home from school, and he'd volunteered his services to produce cookies, but he didn't think that counted since it was an emergency. Honestly he wasn't sure if this was a good sign or indicative of another emergency...

Wait, how long had he been thinking it over? Belle was looking at him with growing tension, and just dropped her eyes and opened her mouth as if to revoke the invitation-

"What do you need me to make?" he blurted out. Alright. His hat was in the ring, so to speak, what next?

Belle looked back up at him, her eyebrows rising. "Oh. Um, I'm not sure yet. Granny always bakes a cake and slices it up, Ruby makes cookies...I'm not sure what Sir Morgan and Grace might do yet, um, I'll make my list and call you?"

"Very well then. I'll...be waiting." And he would, not even in a dramatic sense, as being a shut-in was both rather boring and good for keeping his schedule wide open. He should really go back to sitting on the porch. Maybe walk a circuit around his backyard. _Something_ more active than sitting around the house waiting on the next catastrophe.

"Oh what the hell?"

Regina was still standing there, only instead of rolling her eyes at them, she was glaring at August Booth from across the room. Booth had taken a spot sitting by Garrick. He appeared to have finally found the guts to talk to his son instead of merely shooting nervous glances at him, and while it was undoubtedly awkward, (abandoning a child for years only to find them again as entirely different people was always awkward as hell,) it didn't look like it was going badly. A second glance showed the object of Regina's ire though. Robbi was curling in on herself, staring down at her cake.

Belle reached a hand out to keep Regina from turning August to kindling. "I'm sure she's okay, Regina. He's just a stranger, and Robbi's shy."

The logical point stayed Regina's hand, for now, but she still didn't look very happy about it. Rumpelstiltskin decided to be a bit proactive in both checking that Robbi's shyness was the reason she was being so still, and in keeping this party fireball-free. He walked over to the table, trying to keep his face blank and his steps as smooth as possible, and banking on the fact that Booth would be too startled by his sudden appearance to make note of his cane for now. He'd been sitting when the puppet arrived, and avoided, so while the element of shock wasn't with him, he could still give him a good fright.

It worked quite well, and then it was time for presents before Robbi could go and speak with Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin was surprised that his gift went first, and a little ironically embarrassed that it was so well-recieved. Eyes turned on him with surprise, approval, happy indifference, nothing he was very much used to outside his own family. Was this what acceptance feels like? How strange.

The other presents were unwrapped and marvelled over. August's present was remarkably tasteful, and seemed to charm Garrick, at least a little bit. Far better than the Legos Oliver mentioned were passed on to Peter and Joseph on their birthday. Birthdays. The celebration of the day the twins had been brought into the world, that. Finally it came down to the last box on the table. It was wrapped in newspaper, and the shoe box inside indicated the Beck family had brought it with them since Archie's loafers wouldn't need a work boot box. Inside that, had been a snack cake package which confused and amused in equal measure until Garrick opened that one, and a tiny vial fell out. Like the one Oliver had brought home from Regina's the other day.

"What's this?" Garrick asked, holding it up to the light with a frown. "Glitter?"

"A pinch of fairy dust," Regina explained. "It's a magical training exercise. Your mother says it would be alright if you started coming over on Fridays with Oliver and Robbi, and this is what they're working on right now."

"Oh..." Garrick grinned. "Cool! So what do I do?"

Robbi came over and knelt down by him on the rug. "You're supposed to make it light up with magic. Aunt Regina said you're supposed to feel light."

Rumpelstiltskin wondered if that was an oversimplification, or what Robbi took away from it. It was all well and good to feel light, but you had to think it as well. Feeling and thinking weren't always the same thing, they often worked at odds with each other. He glanced over to see his former pupil's face, and happened to catch sight of August as well.

He didn't look at ease with the discussion of magic. Rumpelstiltskin filed that away later, right now, he and the other adults turned their attention to Garrick's attempt at lighting up the vial. There was a faint, flickering green spark once, and then a brighter, Christmas tree light-like effort, (his cursed persona insisted on calling them "fairy lights" and wasn't that delightfully ironic?) but nothing was as bright as the grin on Garrick's face.

"Cool! You wanna try Oliver?"

"Nah. I can't get it to work yet." Rumpelstiltskin's son demurred.

"I did it two times," Robbi said. "But I don't know how. It was orange light though, I'm kinda sad it wasn't green."

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't. True, Robbi looked nothing like her mother. She was blonde, she had a rounded nose, everything about her was gentle and shy whereas Zelena had always been, in his acquaintance of her, sharp and overdramatic. Green colors still made Rumpelstiltskin uneasy, and even without the foul rust-and-olives taste of the witch's magic stuck in his throat, Tink's brief attempt to help him last week nearly had him jump through the car roof. Robbi had no idea how lucky she was to be different from her mother.

As for Garrick, he'd been doing one magic trick since he was seven years old, changing the colors of things. It might be easiest at all for him to reach out for magic, even if he had never applied himself to anything more serious. His magical glow in the vial had a healthy, clean sort of green to it, like spring leaves and fresh grass and untouched nature, lacking some of the glittery aura his mother's skills had the few times Rumpelstiltskin had seen them. Maybe he would get over his phobia if he started remembering that not all that's green is vile.

Garrick had set the vial aside to break open his chinese checker set and start up a game, but not before passing it around to his friends to have a try. Robbi failed, Oliver wouldn't try, and Opal was still holding it, staring at it like it was a Rubik's cube. Oliver made some comment about the scent of magic that struck up some speculation among the children, but none seemed particularly eager to start practicing right away. And that was fine. They were young, innocent, let them enjoy themselves away from annoyances like the Charmings and dangers like the Blue Fairy for a day.

(He may or may not have seen the children lean over and sniff the air around Garrick though...apparently Oliver's interest had been piqued by that scent conversation.)

The adults began drifting back into conversational groups, Belle having taken a seat by Astrid. One of the brunette fairy's toddlers, Peter, had climbed up on Belle's lap and made himself comfortable, matching the brother sitting on their mother's lap. Belle had her arms wound around the bairn, playing with his dark hair idlly as he dozed off. She had such a way with children, and not for the first time, Rumpelstiltskin felt guilt and shame crawling up his spine. If he hadn't been such a fucking coward, if he hadn't ruined everything, by now they'd probably have a sibling or two for Oliver, not to mention they'd be living in the same house without all of...this, in between them. She'd have more than one little one, a proper husband-

"You could go over and talk to her. The bookworm has teeth, but she doesn't really bite."

Rumpelstiltskin was proud that he didn't jump out of his skin at Regina's voice. She'd never let him live that down. Instead, he chose to ignore her not-so-subtle hint in favor of pulling an envelope out of his inner pocket and pushing it into her hands.

"What's this?"

"Henry mentioned you were looking for photographs for Robbi? I have some prints I may have...purchased, from The Mirror a long time ago. I'd forgotten about them until recently."

Regina frowned, opening the envelope up. Everything he'd said was quite true. He'd been feeling very generous at the time, high on freedom and a reunion with Belle after a year of being Zelena's captive. He had a minion on the staff of The Mirror that told him about a photographer trying to stir up some drama about Regina's whirlwind romance with Robin Hood, and had the pictures spirited away. Most of them were blurred and useless, but there were exactly five that had been clear enough to discern details. Three of them were of the Merry Men out in the woods. Little Roland Hood was in two of them, one had him hoisted high in his father's arms. The fourth picture had the Hoods and Regina walking in the park, laughing while Rolan held both their hands.

The fifth was solely of Robin and Regina, holding hands on the street.

That was the one that gave her pause. Rumpelstiltskin sincerely hoped she wasn't going to cry, he wasn't sure what he'd do if she did, even if he understood her connection to Robin Hood. When you were convinced you'd be alone, and then you find and lose someone so quickly...it was painful. More so because Regina had so few mementos of her outlaw. Some clothes perhaps, memories of course. As far as Rumpelstiltskin knew, the only picture she had of Robin had been the pictures someone thought to take of him holding his newborn daughter in the hospital. None of the two of them.

Regina blinked quickly, her eyes suspiciously wet. Oh god. She was going to cry.

"Uh...thank you..." she swallowed thickly, thumbing through the other pictures Henry had included in the packet. "Thank you. Um, Robbi was, uh, she went home with Opal last Monday, and she was looking at the pictures on the wall, you know, of the family. Zelena never really did the whole...picture thing, um, I don't think she understood it so...thank you. I'll show these to Robbi later. This one especially, um," Regina brushed her fingers over the picture with the three of them, "Robbi wonders about Roland a lot, I didn't have a picture of him before."

"That's...understandable," Rumpelstiltskin nodded slowly. "Oliver asks about Bae sometimes. I suppose it's a fascinating mystery, having an older brother you've never met before."

"Yeah, well, results may vary I guess." Regina muttered, her angry tone at odds with the care she used in tucking the pictures away.

"True. I've often counted myself lucky to be an only child. I'd be surprised if my father hadn't sired an accident or two before he became an immortal teenager though."

"My mother had one accident, believe me, you are lucky." Regina made a face. "Let's change the subject, I'd rather not talk about any of them right now. What's Henry doing today?"

* * *

Dopey was smarter than his name let on. In winter, Any Given Sundae served hot chocolates and coffees in addition to a small selection of ice cream. When he took over from the Snow Queen, some people had assumed he'd fail, but then he went to the community college and got his degree and stuff. He'd done pretty well for himself. And he made good ice cream even without magical freezing help.

Violet teased Henry for eating a chocolate ice cream cone in the middle of frozen March, while she was sipping on a cup of peppermint hot chocolate as they walked. The mound of whipped cream had dotted her nose, giving Henry the opportunity to kiss it away. He'd taken her out for lunch, they'd gone to see a movie in Storybrooke's itty-bitty local theater, and they'd swung by Any Given Sundae on their way home. It was a good day.

When they stopped at Any Given Sundae, Grace, armed with a cup of spiced tea, fell in step with them on her way home to her apartment and they caught up on this and that.

Grace had been a girl Henry tried dating in high school while on a break with Violet. They were just better suited to being friends, kissing her had been weird, and then she'd had to go and say it was like dating a brother and that _really_ burst the bubble of teen courtship. So they stuck together like friends. Grace hadn't made fun of Henry when he tried to convince everyone they were cursed, she'd always had this dreamy, imaginative quality about her. She was a convincing Luna Lovegood for at least three Halloweens, and she had the Ravenclaw scarf Gold knit for her five Christmases ago wrapped around her neck right now.

Heritage Day was this Saturday, and Grace was on standby to bake something for Belle, or to pitch in at her father's shop making old-styled clothes or altering existing pieces. Violet's dad was making cupcakes and she was manning the animal shelter's booth, while Henry would just wander around since he didn't have a stall to stand at. In the evening they'd all be free to go run amok themselves, when the dancing started and the lights turned on. That was always Henry's favorite time. Even before he was old enough to drink. It just looked pretty, it reminded him of the one _real_ ball he'd went to in Camelot that really did feel like a fairytale.

Grace's kindergarten class drew imaginative pictures based on various themes. Every class had a project, and in high school the freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior students all made a mural and competed for a prize for their grade. Kindergarteners only had so much skill in their tiny little hands though, so drawing pictures worked well for them. Grace had made a cardboard tree with branches to hang the kindergarten and first grade pictures from, so all could admire the imagery captured in crayon wax.

Second graders, Grace said, were making crests and coats of arms, the third graders made maps and learned geography. The fourth graders usually did a family tree project, which wasn't a bad idea at all, but the way Henry heard it was done didn't seem to be very...fresh.

It was just a list. Mom and Dad. Mom's parents and Dad's parents. Any siblings anyone had _and_ their offspring, your cousins and such. Genealogically it was neat, and just effective enough that the staleness wasn't brought into question. With Snow taken out of her teacher's position though, (according to Grace,) Mr. Whitney was looking to spice it up a bit. She wasn't privy to the details, he'd just been asking other teachers for their opinions at a meeting last Friday.

They were coming to the street corner where Grace would go one way and Henry and Violet, which was, coincidentally, where Hook came sauntering along and threatened to derail the nice day they were having.

Hook stopped walking when he noticed them and chose to stand there in the way on the street corner. He was wearing a hook, Henry thought he did have a spare, and seemed to try standing taller, squaring his shoulders while they approached. Hook's ridiculous _I Am Man_ posturing was just that. Ridiculous. Not to mention right in the way, but that was probably on purpose so they couldn't walk around him without losing some sort of imaginary test.

Henry led the way, stepping off the sidewalk to go around the obstacle to the crosswalk.

Violet and Grace followed suit, and Henry didn't dignify Hook with so much as a glance. Not even when he barked out, "Oi! Lad! Are you just going to walk away from me? Huh? Huh?"

That much should have been obvious, but then, knowing Hook, he'd probably been drinking. Henry elected to ignore him again as he continued to call out. He had nothing to say to the pirate, and he was enjoying his day out, so he wouldn't be feeding the troll today. If Hook wanted to pick a fight, he could just go back to the docks and look for another washed-up sailor with massive insecurity issues.

But Henry did reach behind him and hold Violet's hand and get a visual on Grace. She seemed to wisely choose to follow them for a bit.

Just because Hook was a bully that preferred beating up men didn't mean he wouldn't go after a woman. Especially if it hurt the man he had a grudge against. Actually, that was exactly why Belle had gotten shot and ended up an amnesiac in the hospital for the better part of a week...

That made it doubly important that Henry didn't antagonize the bastard with his friends or girlfriend around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to the taste/smell of magic thingie: It was totally inspired by the fanfiction **Intervention** by Shepherd23, who has a fabulous reworking of S6 post-Underworld in which Robin Hood doesn't die, his daughter is named Diane, and Rumbelle had beautiful twins that you should go and read about now. Zelena's olives-and-rust thing is her creation.
> 
> *beats Hook with a stick*


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zelena has the final POV in this chapter. She says some icky things about because, let's be honest, she's a rape-joking jealous spite-bitch like that. It's nothing overtly graphic or descriptive, and she doesn't say them aloud, but she thinks them. Be warned.
> 
> Other than that, we're pretty clear.

Emma hadn't been sure how to broach the topic with Killian. He was so stubborn and proud, it was like living with Mr. Rochester before he went through the fire. Before the curse broke, Mary-Margaret Blanchard had been a sap for period romances, that was the only reason Emma could make that reference with confidence.

Speaking of, her mother had called her twice now, trying to invite them to lunch, or dinner, to bury the hatchet and talk about their options. In the court of public opinion, Killian couldn't be reinstated any time soon because of what he'd done to Oliver. The bruises were in the records and destined to be used as evidence in court soon, and they had been...ugly, to look at. The dark bruise on Oliver's face was terrible, but it was the hand-shaped mark on his shoulder that kept haunting Emma. Why she couldn't say though.

(Killian wasn't a strict disciplinarian with Cleo, and he'd never even raised a hand to Emma herself. If he had, she wouldn't be here still. She'd have left with their daughter because she refused to be that wife explaining away her black eyes and bruised arms.)

Still. She understood why David couldn't welcome Killian back. People weren't inclined to trust a _dirty_ cop. But Snow said they had an idea that might get Emma her job back faster, and as the money in their bank account wasn't as much as Emma had thought was there, she was willing to hear this idea out.

She just wasn't sure if Killian was...

She resolved to ask him about it whenever he got home. He'd left out after breakfast to pursue his job opportunity on the docks, and had yet to return home. In the meantime, Cleo had gotten a hankering to built a snowman, so Emma occupied herself with that. They'd made a pretty nice one, just a bit shorter than Emma was. She'd had to hold Cleo up so she could work on the face, and reflected how much easier it had been to do last year. Her little girl was getting so big.

With a snowy watchman in the front yard decked out with a bucket helmet and broomstick warstaff, they'd retired inside with mugs of hot cocoa and dry clothes. That was when Killian returned, shutting the door a bit harder than necessary.

He'd scowled and said something about running into Henry earlier. "Your son wouldn't talk to me in the street, the little snot. What's his problem anyway?"

"Well..." Emma wasn't sure what to say, so she decided to switch subjects. "I don't know. How do you feel about eating out for dinner? We could go to Granny's?"

"I'm not in the mood for overpriced lasagna and soggy fries." Killian muttered. "I'll cook dinner if you're too tired to do it."

"No, no, I'm not tired," Emma got up from the sofa and followed him into the kitchen. "I was just...thinking about it. How did the job thing go?"

Killian snorted. "Don't even talk to me about that. I might have the job, but it's not going to pay very much at first. Go me a favor, next time your father wants to be a big hero, tell him to consider the job market in this bloody wasteland of a town!"

Emma decided against telling him about her mother's invitation to lunch. He was still upset. He had his reasons, but he was also right to be concerned about their finances on just one job. Which was why, when he went upstairs to wash up for dinner, Emma sent her mother a quick text saying she'd met Snow for lunch Monday to talk things over. Once Killian had cooled off they could truly settle things, but for now...what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

* * *

Monday was a new day, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, Garrick was now officially nine. Secondly, Mr. Whitney was the new fourth grade teacher. Thirdly, Phil Briars had been bumped up to fifth grade so now instead of the Three Stooges, they had two. Things could either go up from here, or turn very badly when they least expected it. Time would tell.

Oliver and Garrick fell in step at the entrance, and Robbi trotted up to meet them. She asked him the strangest question as soon as they said hello: "Oliver? How long did it take for your parents to fall in love?"

"Um...I dunno. A while?"

"Aren't they Beauty and the Beast? Haven't they ever told you?"

"Not...in detail..." Oliver replied slowly. Truth be told, he never asked. He was kind of afraid of getting two different stories, and usually just waited on his parents to volunteer some new information about their shared past instead. Like how Mama was a terrible maid, and how Papa was a terrible evil sorcerer to her in the sense of he wasn't very _evil_ at all. "Why?"

"Garrick? How long did it take your parents?" Robbi asked instead, and Garrick shrugged.

"I don't think they were. Mama says it doesn't always take love to make babies, sometimes just bad timing."

Robbi blinked. "What does that mean?"

"I dunno. She says she won't tell me until I'm eleven or twelve and she has time to find a book or something. Why?"

Robbi just shook her head. She was doing that thing where she squirmed and hopped from foot to foot if she stood still. Something was eating her, but Oliver couldn't guess what. He hoped it wasn't too bad though, she was doing real good lately. Then all of a sudden her mind seemed to switch gears and she asked, "Hey Oliver? When do people start baking stuff for your mother's bake sale?"

"Thursday or Friday is good." Oliver replied. "Have you decided what you're making yet?"

"Blondies. I make very good blondies. I might even put chocolate chips in them, that way they taste like chocolate chip cookies too. Um, unless someone's making chocolate chip cookies I guess..."

"Who's making cookies?" Opal asked, tugging off her hat as she walked up. They walked into the classroom all together, noticing Neal and Tommy were absent from the kids gathering inside, and Oliver thought he'd seen Phil walking ahead of them down to the fifth grade classroom. This was going to be interesting.

"Ruby usually makes chocolate chip cookies. Maybe you could put white chocolate chips in there instead?" Oliver suggested. "I think the list right now is Sir Morgan's chocolate cupcakes, Granny's making a sour cream poundcake and a blueberry poundcake, Ruby's making her cookies and Rice Krispie treats, Grace is making little cherry tarts, and Papa's making shortbread. Some are dipped in chocolate, some aren't."

"Maybe I should think about it some more..." Robbi hesitated, then paused. "So is your father going to the festival thingie?"

It was a possibility. Oliver didn't really consider it a highly possible possibility yet. But he did know Papa was making something for Mama's bake sale, at least. He would have to ask.

Robbi switched gears again and asked Opal when her parents fell in love. ("Which time?" she'd asked back.) And then Principal Hornsby came in and asked everyone to their seats before the bell even rang, and had everybody sit as he explained, diplomatically, that Mrs. Nolan wouldn't be teaching the fourth grade for some time, and that until then, Mr. Whitney was in charge of them. Mr. Whitney was older, with snow-white hair and a bushy mustache, and coke-bottle glasses. He was nice and helpful, and not a kid in Storybrooke picked on him when he was subbing, so he'd probably make out okay as the teacher.

The biggest change Mr. Whitney instituted right away was over the family tree project that Mrs. Nolan had her class do every year for the Heritage Day Festival. The younger kids did art projects, Oliver's favorite had been second grade when they made family crests or seals for their family's kingdoms. (The formerly non-human individuals like the mice community had been given the alternative assignment of creating one for their families, Alyssa's had been a spool of thread and a wedge of cheese.) Fourth grade was when you had to write out a family tree thing. It sounded really boring, and apparently Mr. Whitney thought so too.

"This year I think we'll do something a bit different. So!" Mr. Whitney grabbed a piece of chalk and scratched something out on the board. "We'll still be drawing out a family tree, to your grandparents at least if you have them, parents alone if you do not."

Opal raised her hand. "Uh...how many relatives do we have to write down? 'Cause I got like eight uncles, plus Uncle Tiny."

"I thought there were only seven dwarves," Jennie Bremen frowned. "Are you counting Mr. Thompson?"

"Uncle Stealthy died in the old world, dwarf teams hatch eight brothers at a time. I'm not sure if you put down boyfriends on a family tree unless they had a baby with a relative."

(Oh, god, that meant Emma was going down on Oliver's tree...did he have to include _all_ of them too?)

"You could discuss that with your parents, perhaps," Mr. Whitney suggested, then underscored the biggest words written down on the blackboard. "Which leads me to the interesting part of this assignment; _Family history_. Even the dullest, most average, least interesting person on the face of the earth has a family history. Stories like what your grandfather did in his youth, how your great-grandmother created that one family recipe, that one time they met someone who wasn't _quite_ famous yet but would be someday. This is, for all intents and purposes, a week celebrating heritage, whatever that might be. It could be you come from a line of tailors, it could be you're family held a farm for a hundred years, it could be they were horses that saw interesting things in the stables once upon a time."

"My dad was a donkey, does that count?" Jennie asked.

"My dad was a pig," Wilbur added. "I think my mom was a cat, but I could be wrong about that."

"Do I have to write about my dad pulling Cinderella's carriage?" Alyssa wrinkled her nose.

Mr. Whitney held up his hands to try and get everybody to stop asking questions all at once. It sounded like this could be a lot more exciting than the usual family tree assignment if they got to tell a tale about their family, but Oliver was waiting on the teacher to explain things a bit more.

"Now hold on, hold on! I'm not done yet!" Mr. Whitney said. "This isn't about who the most famous relative is, it's about how the story impacted the family itself. If possible, I'd like stories that took place before you were born. They don't necessarily have to take place in the Enchanted Forest, or wherever your parents came from. They could have happened here in Storybrooke, or the tale could be about your grandparents, or cousins or whatever. Above all, the goal will be to write a story that represents your family. It doesn't have to be exciting, it doesn't have to be long, as long as it represents the family."

"Um, what if our families were animals?" Wilbur asked. "I think saying 'Dad was a pig' sounds kinda bad."

A round of giggles bubbled up in the classroom until Mr. Whitney quieted them down again. He was smiling, though, and clarified himself further; "You can talk to your parents, in fact, I recommend it. That they got married, or, um, not, is one of the reasons you're here today. I'm sure they have some tales to tell, you might find inspiration in one of them. There is a two page minimum limit, and a five page maximum. This is not a competition, this is strictly a fun way to get invested in your history. We will be reading them aloud among ourselves here in class, and anyone is welcome to read them aloud at the Heritage Day Festival if they sign up to on Friday, but it will not be a factor in improving your grades. Are there any questions?"

Some kids started asking questions,-what they were getting graded for, if they got extra credit for doing more pages, when it was due,-but Oliver said nothing.

He thought he got the gist of it pretty well: Write something that happened to your parents, or grandparents, uncles, aunts, _whoever_ left an impact on your family. That wasn't going to be a problem for Oliver in the sense of having material to work with...but something that represented his family? He wasn't sure what stories represented something. Or rather, something that wasn't depressing proof they were doomed to be the unluckiest family in Storybrooke.

Papa spent centuries trying to find Bae...who then died. Papa and Mama were reunited...and then broke up, repeatedly. Papa died and came back to life...as Zelena's prisoner. Mama saved her people from the Ogres...and wasn't really remembered for it, as far as Oliver could tell. God. He was going to have to ask Mama and Papa for stories now.

Well, at least Neal Nolan hadn't been here with any smartass comments today.

* * *

Neal hated community service already. First, at the time they were usually in school, Neal had been brought out to the sheriff's station. Tommy didn't show up for an hour, and Dad wasn't very happy about that. He'd warned Mrs. Herman that community service was "lenient considering the severity of their actions" and that she had to have Tommy here by the previously appointed hour, or they'd have to come up with a different sentence.

After that, Dad gave them brooms and set them to sweeping. Then dusting. Then running some documents through the shredder and taking it to the recycling bins in the back. They were dropped off at the diner for lunch, where Mom came by and picked up a to-go bag, and also dropped off their schoolwork. Which they still had to do, even if they weren't allowed to go to the school building itself. Ugh.

They'd tried to figure out a way to sneak out of the diner, but even they weren't brave enough to risk the wrath of Granny Lucas. She had her eye on them the whole time. And then there was Ruby, too, who was only slightly less intimidating. Eventually Dad came back around to collect them, and they had to do their schoolwork for the rest of the afternoon.

It was a good thing this was a punishment. Because it sure as hell felt like it...and they had nineteen more days to go.

_Ugh._

* * *

Archie had been in a bright and sunny mood this afternoon. Rumpelstiltskin almost rolled his eyes, but at least the cricket seemed to approve of how the party had gone. For himself, for Robbi Mills, and for Garrick and his family. Then he'd asked what he and Belle had talked about.

He'd nodded along as professional as could be as Rumpelstiltskin explained they'd talked about her bake sale. He was baking shortbread. He was very good at shortbread, and he'd dip half in chocolate to fancy them up a bit. The only difficult part would be in keeping Oliver from eating them should he want to be involved. Which had brought up a question at the very end of their session that Rumpelstiltskin hadn't considered yet: Was he going to the festival this year?

Rumpelstiltskin had taken Oliver before, every year actually. He walked around with his son, sometimes Oliver's two friends, and if they were on very good terms, Belle as well. The latter hadn't happened in a very long while...and honestly the thought of walking among a crowd of festive people made him feel queasy no matter who he was with. A birthday party where he knew everyone didn't wish him dead was one thing. A festival was another matter entirely.

He couldn't do it.

But he would bake the shortbread...and deciding to press ahead, Rumpelstiltskin asked Henry to take him over to the library so he could talk to Belle about it.

He chose to ignore the smirking look on Henry's face. School was out, Oliver was probably upstairs doing homework. Unless he had friends over, he didn't like doing homework in the library. Belle was at her desk, and looked a bit surprised to look up and find Rumpelstiltskin standing there staring at her. He wasn't staring at her..he was just trying to think of something to say, and looking at her. Really. Rumpelstiltskin glanced behind him, finding Henry had vanished, then turned back around to Belle and her sheepish little smile. Lovely, he'd been here for sixty seconds and he'd already made a fool of himself.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Belle looked down at the notebook she'd been scribbling in. "Ah, I'm writing down what's going in the bake sale. Do you know what you're doing yet?"

"Shortbread. I'll cut them into squares and dip some in chocolate. How much do you think I should make?"

"Mm..." Belle hummed thoughtfully, biting her lip. Rumpelstiltskin wished she wouldn't. It was her most distracting habit and she didn't even know it. "Maybe a batch and a half of each kind? I mean whatever doesn't sell, Oliver and I will certainly take off your hands."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, looking down to his polished shoes. That was more or less the reason he was such a fine shortbread baker right there.

"You're welcome to what doesn't sell, then. Ah...so...how was Oliver's first day back? Did he do alright?"

"Oh! Oh, he did more than alright, he said it was a nice, boring day." Belle smiled, pushing back from her desk. "Actually, it's funny you're here, I was going to call you but I wasn't sure when your appointment was. You know how every class has a different project in the week leading up to Heritage Day? Well the fourth grade does a family tree, usually, and Oliver's upstairs doing that now. But Mr. Whitney gave them an extra assignment."

"What sort of assignment?"

"From what I understand, he's asked for the kids to write stories about their families, before they were born preferably. Oliver isn't sure what sort of questions he wants to ask yet so...he's just working on the family tree part since he's familiar enough with that."

"Hmm. You'd think _that_ would be the difficult part."

"In this family? I agree." Belle giggled. "Um, so...so maybe we should have dinner. I mean, the three of us, of course, so he can get a story out of us? I'm not sure where to start really, do you have any ideas?"

"Ah...no." Nothing immediately came to mind. Nothing pleasant at least...oh boy. "Though it does sound like an interesting project, I applaud Mr. Whitney's originality, even if I pity Robbi Mills."

Belle's smile melted into concern. "Oh my, I didn't think about that...I hope she goes to Regina, poor darling."

* * *

Zelena's oh-so-heroic little sister had the nerve to visit yesterday to tell her she was sending Robbi to that half-blood boy Garvin's birthday party, instead of bringing her in to visit like they arranged for whenever she was on her _best behavior_. Maybe Regina should have just adjusted that to _whenever she felt like it_...

Oh, sure, she'd said Robbi would come visit today, but Zelena wasn't buying it. She'd said she'd visit last week too, after all. Lying, selfish bitch. She hadn't just been contend to bask in everything that should have been Zelena's; Raised in the lap of luxury, having their mother's love, being Rumple's prized student, casting his curse, being the queen of this tidy little kingdom. No. It wasn't enough. Regina had to go and take the one thing that was hers, _only_ hers, her flesh-and-blood daughter, and claim it as her own. She was probably filling Robbi's ears with all sorts of poisons against her, trying to turn her against Zelena even now.

It wasn't fair!

All she'd done was make a little mistake. The Black Cauldron was a bit extreme, but she'd thought it the only available option at the time. Hardly anyone died. The injuries were horrific, true, her own daughter had been a victim, but it wasn't that bad. By the next month, you had to go to the graveyard and _look_ to see any signs of recent unrest. The town turned suspicious eyes on the vulnerable Rumpelstiltskin, (he wasn't innocent, if anyone needed a punishment it was the Dark One anyway,) and Zelena's mistake would have never gone unnoticed if Regina hadn't gotten too nosy and ruined everything.

As per usual...everything about this was Regina's fault. From the length the incarceration had gone on, to those pills she had to take that made her head funny, to how she'd taken Robbi into her home and was trying to make her forget Zelena by keeping her down here in hell.

It actually made hell look like a red, foggy paradise by comparison. At least in the Underworld, Zelena had Hades for company. He'd looked out for her. She shouldn't have killed her True Love at the insinuations of her sister, Hades had made his realm look like Storybrooke so she'd have her own kingdom to rule! Why did she think he'd cast her aside after that? Hmph.

And what was all that nonsense about Robbi not liking how Zelena made her feel? Zelena loved her daughter!

She wanted to give her everything she'd never had. A safe home, to be protected from the cruelty of strangers, unwavering love Robbi returned in kind...until Regina started dragging her to that damned insect Hopper. Now Robbi would ask dangerous questions, or talk about these people that were just using her. Couldn't she see it? People adored the Charmings, and they _adored_ their progeny. By the same token, they loathed Zelena, and whispered about her all the time. They thought she couldn't hear it, but she did. She always did. They didn't think she was cut out to be a mother. They would eat Robbi alive and spit her out just to spite her if given the chance.

First Regina let her go off to that nasty little bookworm's unprotected, and now she was sending her off to parties surrounded by her enemies. And she claimed to love Robbi?!

Lunch came and went, and Zelena was escorted out of her cell into the small visitor's room that had been installed when the asylum underwent some remodeling a few years ago. It was still locked and padded, but it was slightly less foreboding. The cricket had pushed for the changes. Something about rehabilitating prisoners, blah, blah, blah, he was so _sickeningly_ cheerful. To hear him talk, you'd think anyone could make their lives better if they just made a different choice. Well it was a little bloody late to make new choices now that she was a fucking prisoner, wasn't it?

Zelena did do one of those stupid breathing exercises the insect was always telling her to do. If she was in the visitor's room, that meant she'd have a visitor, and that was probably Robbi. If she'd done something to give Robbi the wrong impression, she'd just have to present a placid picture until her daughter got herself straightened out.

And she would. Because although Robbi was a timid, silly little thing, she was really a good girl as long as someone kept her on the right track.

Sure enough, Robbi appeared shortly wearing her school uniform, holding a wrinkled little paper sack in her hands. The wrinkles had come from her wringing hands. "Hi Mum...how are you?" she asked shyly, coming to the sofa to give Zelena a hug.

Zelena pulled her down to sit right beside Robbi, wrapping her arm around her to hold her there. "I'm better now that you're here, sweetpea. What were you doing yesterday, hmm?" She already knew, but hearing it in Robbi's words would be better. Just so she got a real feel for what happened without Regina's tampering.

Robbi brightened a bit, the bag crinkling further in her hands. "I went to Garrick's birthday party. I knew most everyone there and I didn't make Opal mad, or anyone really. It was fun. Miss Belle asked me to help with her bake sale. I'm thinking about making blondies, those are like brownies without the chocolate batter, um, oh, and I brought you a muffin from the bakery. Here."

Zelena accepted the bag, drawing out the muffin as she mulled over the new information. Robbi sounded like she'd had a fine time, that savage half-blood girl hadn't started a fight and no one hurt else Robbi. Good. What wasn't so good was that Miss Belle seemed to be using Robbi's new hobby to pad out the inventory for her little fundraiser. Everyone always thought Belle was so damned perfect, but Zelena knew she had to have a dark side to her.

Something opportunistic, something cagier, _something_ more than her good little mother and librarian image let on...

Rumple simply couldn't have been interested in a pure-hearted hero girl. He was dark and powerful and strong, Belle was a wide-eyed little chit that got knocked up. Or perhaps she wasn't so wide-eyed after all. There certainly were benefits to having the Dark One on a short leash, and Belle didn't even need the dagger to get them. That stupid little bitch didn't even know how lucky she was to have Rumple falling at her feet-

"Mum?"

"Mm? Sorry, got a bit lost in thought." Zelena smiled easily, picking at the domed top of her blueberry muffin. "What was that, love?"

"We're doing a project at school this week." Robbi repeated herself, jiggling her foot. "Um, we have to draw a family tree, and we have to write about a story that happened to our family before we were born. The, uh, the only other person in town from Oz is Ms. Gale, so I thought maybe I should write something about you so it'd be different. Maybe I could write about you meeting Daddy?"

Zelena wrinkled her nose. When _did_ she meet Robin Hood the first time? He always seemed to be traipsing after Regina like a lovestruck hunting dog, it was hard to tell. Well it wasn't that important. "Oh, it's dreadfully dull, you don't want to write about that."

"Dull is okay. The teacher said-"

"No, sweetpea, it's a silly story and I think you can do better than that."

"But how did you meet-"

"Robin there is no story to tell!" Zelena cut her off firmly. "We were close, much the same as that barmaid fairy and the man-puppet were, and then he died leaving you with me. Now will you _please_ stop!"

Robbi lowered her eyes to her lap obediently. The silence gave Zelena room to think up a proper story undistracted. It was true enough that there wasn't much to how her and Robin met. It only his ridiculous "moral code" that got him to stop following Regina around, and it was an outright miracle he got it up for her. If Zelena were the real Marian, she'd be insulted at how long it took Robin to get to the main event that made her daughter happen. Lord knows what Regina saw in him, but that story wasn't suitable for children anyway...Zelena needed one that her daughter could learn from...aha.

Her daughter looked a bit disappointed, so Zelena set the muffin aside to give her a hug. "How about I tell you the story of why everyone thinks water melts the Wicked Witch? Hmm?"

Robbi looked up at her with hesitant curiosity. "Why do they think that?"

"Well, first off, it's not true. A long time ago, not long after Rumple cast me out to make your aunt his curse-caster, I took over Oz from a false wizard who was little more than a sideshow barker. I was upset and angry, and very lonely. So lonely that when a woman named Glinda appeared and offered to be my friend, I thought she meant it..."

Zelena left out a few minor details, (like how she'd turned green with jealousy and had trapped the three shallow witches in the furthest corners of the land in pocket dimensions after they'd misled her,) but she felt the core of the story remained the same: People who offer you friendship only want what you have to offer them. Glinda had wanted Zelena to fill out their sisterhood so they had a full set, but didn't care who sat there. It was all the _Good Witch of the South's_ fault, she'd neglected to mention the full prophecy and led Zelena to disaster.

That kid, Garret, was just like Glinda. He was offering Robbi friendship, at first glance, but there was surely something more self-serving beneath the surface. He seemed a bit young to be setting Robbi up for some _vulgar_ purpose, but he could be targeting her for her powers. She was Zelena's daughter, surely she had some magic in her veins. Or maybe they were just using Robbi as their whipping girl, someone to blame and pick on to feel better about themselves. It didn't matter in the end. While Zelena was trapped in this damnable hospital, the best she could do was hope Robbi saw through the window-dressing to the real moral of her story:

She would never be accepted in this town, just like Zelena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tackles Rumbelle* I SHOULD LOCK YOU IN A CLOSET YOU AWKWARD DORKS!


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hello! I do warn you though, I'm RIDICULOUSLY behind on my Rumbelle Revelry story. (As in, what story? I don't even have a plot! ACK!) So regrettably, I'm choosing to work on that for a bit, which means there's gonna be another hiatus for this. The good news is this is a pretty long chapter with some neat stuff, and there will be a Halloween-themed ficlet sometime in October regardless.
> 
> God I am so behind...

There was only one thing Opal could possibly write about for a family history assignment. After all, her parents were like the only dwarf and fairy to fall in love.

She knew bits of the story already. The Blue Fairy had played wicked fairy godmother and broke them up. Dad said it was because he got all eaten up with doubt and fear that he'd ruin Mom's life, Mom said he was a well-meaning idiot the Blue Fairy manipulated. Either way, their dream to sail around the world burst like a soap bubble. And that was sad. But then they met again under the first curse, when Dad caused a blackout to help Mom sell all those candles the convent still sold at the Heritage Day Festival. (The fairies liked to give Mom dirty looks, but she always bought like five candles from their stall, so they _really_ ought to get over themselves.)

When she explained to her parents about her assignment Monday night, Dad had needed to leave the house early. He'd been assigned an earlier shift at the hospital than he usually was, so he had to skip dinner. But Mom told her side of it though, with Peter and Joseph squished in close on either side of her on the sofa, paying real close attention like they did when they were super-interested in something. They kept asking questions like what Mom's wings looked like, if she'd been a little fairy when she met Dad. Stuff that was neat, but Opal wouldn't think to ask herself. Brothers had their uses.

"Well fairy wings look a little like dragonfly wings, really. Kind of see-through, but very shiny. And I could change size so I was about as tall as I am now, I guess. We don't have wings when we're big, which suited me fine. I was a terrible flier."

"What color were you?" Peter asked, petting Sam's head. The vet checked her out and let Sam come home with them afterwards, so now the smug kitty-cat had the run of the house, not just a box in the laundry room.

"I was a pink fairy, my name was Nova. Um, I'm not sure if that's a shade of pink or not really, not all fairies took color-coded names. Like Tinker Bell. The Blue Fairy likes the color names because it's uniform and easy to remember."

Opal wrinkled her nose. "What, so she wouldn't have to remember your name, she'd just say, 'Good job Yellow,' or 'Don't do that Gray' and so on?"

"Pretty much, but with shades. Um, so I was a very young fairy, sort of like a student fairy. It was my job to collect the year's supply of fairy dust from the mines, and carry it back. I met your father when the lever on the dispenser thingie got stuck, because fairies aren't known for their strong arms. So, I started talking to your father. And while we were talking, I almost sent the bag into the furnace, and you have _no_ idea how much trouble I would be in for burning up a year's worth of fairy dust..."

Opal had a draft mostly written out already. She just had some details to fill in and polish up, and Dad didn't have to go to the hospital early so he could probably go over it with her tonight. The hospital's other night janitor had ironically gotten sick, so Dad had been working both shifts the past few days. Peter and Joseph would probably have to be around to hear Dad's side of events, too, since this morning when they came down to breakfast they were mad that he left Mom on Firefly Hill like a hundred years ago. It was kinda funny, and she and Mom kept trying not to laugh at the scene of two four-year-olds defending their mother's honor and an out-of-the-loop Dad made.

But the story was really sweet. Her parents found each other, twice, and eventually they got married and the whole nine yards. Mom told Opal once that she had wanted to be a fairy godmother, once upon a time, but she found she could help people without a magic wand or a fancy title just as well, and that's what she really wanted. Opal's favorite part was how both times, (except for the idiot part,) Dad had believed in Mom, and Mom believed in Dad. It was...sweet.

And she was always kind of rooting for Mr. Gold and Miss Belle to stay together, because when push came to shove, they did the same thing.

She didn't think Oliver believed her when she said they just had to get past their own idiotic part, but maybe it looked different when you were their kid. That might be why Cleo sometimes went around asking them weird questions like what their dads did when they came home late, if their moms ever looked sad, and one time Opal heard her ask Phil if Mr. Briars ever yelled at him. Something was rotten at the Jones house, but no grownup ever said anything about it. Probably because Emma was an idiot, one who couldn't see what a creep she was married to rather than one like Miss Belle and Mr. Gold were.

Grownups were so complicated.

Garrick came to school Tuesday saying his dad told him Emma used to be cool. She had a red leather jacket and slayed a dragon with a sword, broke the first curse, brought back the happy endings and fought to do the right thing. Opal wished Emma Swan was still around instead of Emma Jones, she did sound cool.

Meanwhile, Robbi was almost late to school. She tripped over a desk leg flying in through the door as the bell rang, almost knocking Claudia Little over and blurting out apologies. She got stuck in her coat trying to get out of it and was the last one in her seat, her whole face red as a beet. Mr. Whitney called attendance, (it was alphabetized by first name, so Robbi had some time to recover,) and made no mention of the incident before getting down to the business of school.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Robbi had forgotten to bring a notebook into the visitors room, but she still remembered how Mum's story went. It wasn't...bad, just sort of one-sided. It didn't seem to fit the assignment, as in, a story that represented Robbi's family, at all. But that wasn't what was really wrong.

It didn't add up, mathematically speaking.

If Robbi remembered it right, Mrs. Nolan announced she was pregnant with Leo at the New Year's party years ago, now. Her belly got bigger and bigger with the growing baby, until Leo was born in August. That was about seven months, close to eight. Some kid asked Mrs. Nolan how long she was gonna be pregnant, and Robbi remembered the answer was nine months total. It took some time to realize you had a baby in your tummy, the first month or two, she'd said.

Neal Nolan had been born the day Mum was defeated as a villainess. And he was about five months older than Robbi, so, it only took a bit of math to show there was something very wrong.

Even though Emma had sped up Mum's pregnancy when she was a Dark One or whatever, that still didn't add up right. Knocking out a month or two left only about three months for Mum and Dad to have a baby. Villains usually didn't reform in under three months, did they? And Robin Hood had been a thief that robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, (at least that's what she heard,) so he wasn't much of a villain. Except maybe to rich people. Robbi had gone so far as to write all the numbers she could think of down, but either her math was bad or she was missing something.

Then there were the pictures.

Sunday, Aunt Regina had gotten a stack of pictures from Mr. Gold. Some of them were Henry's pictures, old snapshots of the extended Mills-Charming-Swan family before Emma got married to Killian. (He wasn't in any pictures, except for some background shots.) There was a handful of pictures, though, of Robbi's father and the Merry Men out in the woods. Aunt Regina tried pointing out the ones she could remember. Little John was Daddy's best friend, a big, strong-looking guy who was supposed to have taken over the Merry Men when they left. Friar Tuck was a short, fat old man with a bald spot on top of his head. Alan O'Dale had a guitar Aunt Regina said was called a lute. There were some pictures with Roland in them, the first time she'd ever seen him actually, and he looked nothing like Robbi did. Brown curly hair, a round little face, big brown eyes. He was cute, but maybe he looked more like his mom than their father. But Mum wasn't in a single picture, not even in the backgrounds.

Not in the pictures Henry took, not in the ones with the Merry Men, _nothing_. Henry had scribbled dates down on the backs and some were taken before Neal was born, some taken just after. The only woman in a picture with Daddy, actually, was Aunt Regina herself. Robbi knew they were some kind of friends, since Aunt Regina was the only one who talked to her about Daddy. Robbi had always thought that meant Mum missed him too much to talk about him, like Emma never talked about Henry's dead dad.

Now...

Robbi had almost been late to school because she'd overslept. She'd been up fretting half the night, and slept through her alarm clock. Aunt Regina kinda had to drag her out of bed and Robbi had to put her hair in a ponytail because she had a bad case of bedhead and it was too frizzy to stay loose, she ate some toast and drank orange juice out of one of Aunt Regina's traveling coffee cups on the way to school, and in general she didn't have enough time to ask Aunt Regina about all the jumbled thoughts poking the inside of her mind with sharp edges.

She shot into the classroom just under the wire, to some giggling classmates, but other than that school started fine. A little later on, though, when Mr. Whitney had to step out and track down some chalk, kids started leaning over desks to whisper to each other. And they started staring at Oliver. Some kids look at her, too, but most at Oliver.

Even Robbi could figure out why. His dad was the Dark One. Their parents probably told lots of nasty stories about Mr. Gold, and when Mr. Whitney returned, Claudia Little's back was to the door so she didn't see him. Robbi almost knocked Claudia down earlier, but she wasn't very sorry. Claudia wasn't a bully, but she _was_ a gossip, if Robbi understood the word right. She liked talking about other people, especially if it was an embarrassing or a bad story. She was talking too loud to Jennie Bremen, who was nobly trying to tell her to shush, as Claudia was complaining about how the Dark One had tricked her father.

That was when Mr. Whitney was quick to remind everyone: "This assignment is about family history. The history of your family. I do not want fifteen stories about 'the evil Dark One' because that's not history, that's gossip. And there are more, worse Dark Ones than Rumpelstiltskin, believe it or not."

Garrick raised his hand. "What if Mr. Gold was in the story anyway? Like he made a potion that turned my grandpa's parents into puppets, but he didn't do it himself because somebody else switched potion thingies?"

Mr. Whitney paused a moment. "Hmm...I'd say that is history. Good question Garrick. Anyone else?"

"Do we have to write about stories in another realm, or can we write about life in Storybrooke?" Alyssa asked. "'Cause my parents said they had an adjustment period after that first curse broke because they had to figure out how to use, like, forks and thumbs and stuff."

"My mom forgot how to drive for a whole week." Billy chirped, and a few other kids started volunteering amusing pieces of information their parents had offered up about the past.

Robbi didn't.

She always knew Mum was different. It wasn't in how people treated _her_ so much as in how she treated _them_. It wasn't until lately that Robbi was starting to think her mother had never really left her days of villainy behind. It wasn't the Black Cauldron that had her thinking it, although that should have been a tip-off. It was how she was trying so, so, so hard to convince Robbi she didn't have friends and everyone was out to get her.

It wasn't...true.

Maybe Robbi didn't have a lot of friends, and maybe she still had some stuff to work on, but nobody was especially _unkind_ to her. If Mum was right, Lydia's mother Dorothy Gale would've been mean to Robbi, right? But she wasn't. She was kind of nice. When they brought a bunch of animals to school one day for something educational, she let Robbi hold a cat that was half as big as she was without even hinting she had fought with the Wicked Witch years ago.

And Aunt Regina was right that Mum wasn't healthy, the more time Robbi spent talking to Archie and watching other families, she knew that was true herself. So...so when Mum only wanted to talk about herself, and the more Robbi realized the dates didn't add up...the more uneasy she got.

Garrick's parents were the only other ones Robbi knew that weren't married or together anymore, and Tink didn't talk about Mr. Booth because he ran off and left them. That was understandable. Oliver's parents weren't together, but that was because they were always fighting or something. But they didn't try to keep Oliver away from each other, except for that time after the Black Cauldron, but to be fair, Miss Belle really thought Mr. Gold had done that awful thing. Robbi hated just thinking about the Black Cauldron. She had some very faint white scars on her neck and chest you had to squint to see, and sometimes they itched if she thought about them too much...

That was a little how Robbi felt thinking about this jumble of mismatched dates, incomplete stories, and questions without answers. They _itched_ the more she thought about them. She wasn't sure how to talk about it though...or with who...but she had to soon. Her paper needed writing, and she needed answers to this itchy, uneasy questions.

* * *

So far, Belle thought the evening was going well. She'd made beef stew, which was something she made consistently well and paired easily with bread. If they usually had dinner, they went to Rumple's house or they went out, because Belle was a capable cook, but not a stellar one. She wanted Rumple to come here to the apartment because...she couldn't say why, it just felt important to give him the option to come here.

Probably because he didn't come up unless she invited him. And while she was usually glad he respected her boundaries...she thought she owed it to him to let him in. He was trying, she should be trying too.

Rumple arrived on time, (he always did,) with a shy, semi-awkward smile for her over Oliver's head when their son hugged him at the door. Oliver told him a little bit about his day at school, how Garrick managed to tie his fingers together with yarn and how Alyssa and Aeronwy had hung around them at recess and lunch. Aeronwy had told them a bit about the story she was going to write, which had involved Rumple, actually.

"Ah...yes, that," Rumple nodded, fidgeting with his cane and very carefully not looking at Belle. "I imagine there's a lot of...that, in class."

"Actually," Oliver frowned. "Mr. Whitney told everybody today that he didn't want...um, what were his exact words? _'I do not want fifteen stories about 'the evil Dark One' because that's not history, that's gossip.'_   I think you're gonna be in Garrick's story too. Something about potions? Aeronwy said you made a deal with her mom for magic sand. I mean, that you _traded_ magic sand for a gauntlet."

Oh. That was why Rumple wouldn't look at her. That stupid magic gauntlet that led you to a person's greatest weakness. The gauntlet that led you to the greatest weakness, which was usually what a person loved most. _Usually_. Belle, the lover of words, had let her instincts take over she completely ignored an adverb. _Usually_. Most of the time, in general, sometimes, almost always. And it was so painfully obvious that the Dark One's greatest weakness would be the bloody dagger. He shouldn't have been trying to kill Hook, (at the time...) and he certainly should not have proposed with a fake dagger in the spirit of "trust", but that didn't absolve her of being an idiot.

They had worked out most of their issues on this particular subject when Oliver was very small, but the bad memories remained...

"He brought it home at the Dark Castle," Belle said, trying to change the subject. "He wouldn't tell me how I got it, but I thought he was just being a big grump."

"A grump?" Oliver sounded like he wanted to laugh, but wasn't sure if he should.

Belle did her best to keep a straight face, bending down level with her son's face. "A big grump."

Her son snorted, and glancing up, she saw Rumple smiling. The corners of his eyes crinkled even if he wasn't looking at her directly. After he gave her a library once she let his prisoner go, under the pretense of keeping it clean, she knew he was more of, well, a big grump than anything. She suddenly envisioned him in golden scales and leathers shouting _"Get off my lawn!"_ at David scurrying through the castle's courtyard and giggled at the image.

"Yes...well..." Rumple cleared his throat. "Perhaps I was a big grump, but, your mother was a nosy little maid. She once managed to get herself stuck in a chest trying to see what was inside it."

Belle felt her face heat up. "I did not get stuck!" she protested. "It was deeper than I thought but that's because it was empty."

"Your feet were off the floor," he laughed, wiggling his fingers in an approximation of kicking feet, which was really overdramatic. She'd only leaned over a little too far, she would've gotten out fine. "I had to pull you out."

"Hmph. Well I have to check dinner, so why don't you explain to your son why you nailed the curtains down, why don't you?"

Oliver raised his eyebrows in a manner very much like his father. "Why on earth would you do that?"

Rumple faltered a moment, his hands stilling. "Ah..."

And like that, the awkwardness was dispelled. Through dinner, Belle and Rumple took turns telling amusing little tales from the Dark Castle. Some bordered into the bittersweet because Belle knew how the story ended. She'd wished on every star she could glimpse through the too high, too small window in her tower prison for Rumple to come and save her, to take her back to his safe castle in the mountains far away. And the whole time, he'd thought her dead. It was difficult, now, to say which was worse. Oliver already knew why Belle had gone with Rumple in the first place, because she'd had to set that particular record straight after her father went on a lengthy tirade years ago. But they had never really told him why they had been separated.

Truthfully, Belle wondered if perhaps he hadn't just assumed they'd always come together and drifted apart like he thought of as normal...

Eventually the amusing little tales became the rather lengthy story of how Beauty and the Beast fell in love. The only candelabra came in much later, much to Oliver's disappointment. He was rather fond of Lumiere in the Disney adaptation of their story. Belle and Rumple still took turns, but when it came down to the final hours of the tale, he deferred to Belle's side of events after she was sent into town to "fetch straw" at his request.

"...and I had thought I wouldn't return, but I also...I also didn't want to leave. I was happy there. With your father." Belle said, feeling far more pressure than she had sitting across from Archie in his office. "I had the empty basket under my arm, and more gold than I needed to buy straw in my pocket. I was walking along this road when a carriage, black from the paint to the horses to the armor of the guards around it, rumbled up behind me. And then a woman dressed in black climbed out and invited herself to walk beside me."

Oliver made some notes, tapping the pencil against his lips thoughtfully. "It's Regina, isn't it?"

"How did you guess?"

"She's wearing black and she's bossy. Maleficent wouldn't drive a carriage and she isn't bossy like a Mills...y'know, except Robbi."

"Excellent deduction all the same," Belle conceded. "And I'll say now, because at that time, Regina was...she was..."

"She was a bitch." Rumple said plainly. "A sneaky selfish bitch."

"Blue language aside, you are right," she nodded. "Very much so. Regina walked alongside me, and I had never met a Queen before so I wouldn't be able to identify one, let alone the Evil Queen, so I listened as she talked and asked me oddly personal questions. This is why I tell you not to talk to strangers." Regina had played her like a violin, talking her into marching back and trying to heroically save the man she loved from the beast inside. It was naive, at best, and Belle internally winced at the memory of how foolish she must have looked. "She gave me the idea to break your father's curse, and I never even questioned how she knew about the curse in the first place. I just went back...it wasn't all bad, I suppose. I did...I did _mean_ well, but intentions tend to be meaningless."

She chose to keep looking at Oliver. She didn't...she couldn't bear to see the look on Rumple's face. Good or bad. Not right now.

"So I came back, and I gave him his straw." Belle bit her lip. "He had promised me a story, and I wanted to hear that, as well. He promised to tell me what happened to his son, Bae. He told the story, briefly. And then asked me why I came back. Even though I was sitting in front of him, he couldn't believe I'd come back."

"I'd been watching the road from the tower," Rumple murmured. Oliver looked at him, Belle couldn't look up from her fidgeting hands on the table. Her face felt warm. "I didn't expect her to come back, really, but when I saw her...I quite forgot how to teleport and ran down to the Great Room on my own two legs."

Belle smiled, biting her lip. "I didn't know that." She peeked at him, finding him worrying his wedding ring.

"Ah...well..." It sounded like he was going to say more, but when he looked up and met her eyes, he stopped short. His eyes were deep and dark, swimming with barely-hidden longing. She wondered what it was he longed for most, and what he might see in her eyes at that same moment.

"So why did you come back?"

Belle looked back to their son, his pencil poised over the pad eagerly. "I...wasn't, at first. But something Regina said had helped me back up my mind. And it wasn't...it wasn't that True Love's kiss could break any curse, exactly. It was something I hadn't noticed, actually."

"What?" Oliver asked, sounding increasingly impatient. Like he had when he was smaller, and Belle had drawn out a bedtime story just to tease him. The thought made her smile.

"That your father let me go. I had told him I wanted to see the world, and he let me go. I hadn't made the connection until she mentioned it. He loved me...kiss or no. And I hadn't told him I loved him, I wasn't sure if he even knew I cared for him, and that seemed like a great injustice so I had to go back. And I kissed him for the first time, right in front of his spinning wheel."

Oliver scribbled something down, and Belle looked over to Rumple. He had a blank expression now, and she wished she could reach across the table and hold his hand. She didn't blame him for what happened next. He shouldn't have overreacted, but in hindsight it was just a little...well it was a very _her_ thing to do, just give True Love's Kiss unthinkingly without asking what sort of curse he was under, or why. Damn her impulsiveness.

"It was True Love," Rumple said, startling Belle by speaking while he stared down at his empty bowl like it held the secrets to the past. "Your mother very nearly broke the curse of the Dark One. And I stopped it."

Oliver's writing froze. "Why?"

"Because I'm a coward." Belle flinched, hating how easily he said it. It wasn't right. He wasn't a coward. He was _afraid_ but fear alone didn't make a coward. "I had a future planned out, one that would lead me to Bae after three hundred years and depended on me keeping my curse. My power. Your mother said something about breaking curses and I panicked. I don't remember half of what I said, but I accused her of being a spy, I shook her like a rag doll-"

"You did not," Belle interrupted. She had to, before it spiraled anymore. "Well you shook me, but it didn't hurt me. You doing all of..." she waved her arms around in that overtly theatrical way Rumple had done so often when he was in character as the Dark One, "All of this, and shouting about queens in the mirror was a bit more confusing than frightening. Mostly I was...disappointed."

He still wouldn't look at anyone. He had his face resting in his hand now, rubbing a finger over the bridge of his nose like he tended to do when he was lost in unpleasant thoughts. Oliver set his pencil down, a thoughtful little frown on his face.

"So...that's how it ends? Did you..." he shifted his focus to Belle. "Did you get thrown out for good then?"

Well, first she got tossed in a dungeon. It was a dry cell, cool but not cold. She remembered that. Hearty porridge, milk, and a slice of bread appeared for dinner and breakfast the next day. She hadn't eaten dinner but she'd indulged in breakfast because she was thirsty, and thirsty gave way to polishing off the porridge and cleaning the bowl with the warm bread. It had deepened the impression that Rumple didn't hate her, even if he'd had a full blown attack of irrational paranoia.

"Yes. In the morning, your father sent me away. For good."

"She got the last word." Rumple murmured quietly. He smiled a little, too. "The first person in decades to get the last word over the Dark One, maybe even a century."

"But he didn't exactly throw me out," Belle smiled, wishing he'd look at her. She knew he loved her, even if it was in his own odd and unspoken little ways, but she had no idea if he still knew how dear he was to her. "The pockets of my cloak were stuffed with three skeins of spun gold, and a pair of clippers too. I left the Dark Castle and wandered into the next village. And the next. And the one after that, where I stopped for a spell at a tavern because I was tired of walking."

She was also tired of feeling like she only had half of her heart, but those words wouldn't come out of her throat. Oliver slowly made some notes, and it was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the scratch of graphite on paper, until their son asked, "What did you do, Papa?"

"One day Regina came to the castle. She had your mother captive by then, I'm sure. She told me your mother was dead, and all I had was an empty heart and a chipped cup after that." Oh god...the chipped cup...she hadn't seen it in years, and she felt something like grief thickening in her chest, her eyes growing hot. She supposed Rumple kept it tucked out of sight now. Maybe at the shop... "For two years, then twenty-eight, she was locked away in the Evil Queen's clutches and I never knew about it. Then Jefferson got her out, sent her to my shop just before the curse broke, and...we were reunited. I dropped a bottle of True Love down the well, Emma gave Henry True Love's kiss, and the curse was broken. That was that."

"Why did Regina keep you prisoner if she didn't do anything with you?" Oliver asked, underscoring something as he quickly jotted down notes. "Were you like insurance?"

"I suppose. She never got the chance to use me, if that was the case." Belle shrugged. "I got to see a little bit of the world before she caught me. The tavern I stayed at was where I met Opal's father, and the first night I actually had to explain to him that Astrid had invited him on a date."

Rumple shifted, a false smile on his face. "I don't know that story," he said lightly, clearly changing the subject. "How did that work?"

It wasn't quite a "that was that" ending, but Belle didn't have the heart to tell Oliver what happened after the first curse. How she gave Rumple an ultimatum minutes after their reunion, and hours later he'd gone on to try seeking vengeance on Regina behind her back to obey the word of her ultimatum. If she'd known about Archie, or had access to a time machine, she'd send her past self and Rumple there post-haste. If only the TARDIS were real.

So, she changed the subject. The tale of Belle helping a lovesick dwarf was a short one on her end. One night she'd put them on the right path, the next Dreamy had encouraged her to go off on an adventure. She thought she could still see hints of the kind optimist in Leroy, but you had to look through pessimism and scowls to _really_ see it. She described the Yaogui as a "lion the size of the Cadillac with a flaming head" that had been Prince Phillip, and that she'd seen he and Mulan off to go save Aurora from her sleeping curse. And that was when she'd been captured.

Oliver asked Rumple then if he had some stories between then and the curse breaking he wanted to share. So Rumple took up the challenge, talking some about how he'd kept Snow or David from screwing things up too badly. Every now and then he'd add he was setting up the scene for Regina to cast the Dark Curse and bring him to this land to find Bae. Which eventually led the story of Rumple's first venture to New York with Emma and Henry.

"Why did Emma go? Wasn't she the sheriff?"

"I cashed in a favor." Rumple explained. "The then-Miss Swan had no choice but to comply, as if I had to spend one more hour in town while your mother was hospitalized and Captain Hook was breathing, I was going to do something I might regret later."

"Well..." Oliver hesitated. "Couldn't you have just turned him into a wharf rat? Or a toad? You wouldn't had to kill him, exactly, and it would've saved a lot of problems."

Rumple cleared his throat. "Yes, well, hindsight is 20/20. Things had been...I was doing very well, at the time, I tried to be the bigger man. I didn't want to give your mother or brother any more reasons not to trust me."

Belle thought for a moment. She didn't think murder solved anything, but maybe turning Hook into a rat or a toad would have been merciful. Nobody would've missed him. Her memories were a bit hazy, blurred by amnesia and Lacey's alcohol consumption, but she couldn't say Captain Hook was a particularly beloved figure by anyone. The Charmings only accepted him when he started dating Emma. Let's see, if Hook hadn't been around...well the one useful thing he'd done was give everyone a way to Neverland, and deliver a memory potion to Emma the following year. That was really about it...for a dozen years in town calling himself a hero, and that was it.

"So..." Oliver cut off that train of thought. "If I've got this right, then Mama got out of a gross arranged marriage by making a deal with Papa. She saved Robbi's dad's life and consequently the life of Maid Marian and their baby, and got a library out of it. Papa traded magic sand for a gauntlet that he traded Mama's life for later on, and that's the same gauntlet that the Charmings haven't given back from six years ago when they borrowed it, right?"

"Right."

"And after five or six months and one tumble off the ladder, you realized you loved Mama and let her go, and Mama came back like how that saying goes, only the True Love Kiss freaked Papa out and this time he sent her away-slash-Mama left him, and then after playing human godmother to Opal's parents she saved Phil's dad and got captured by Robbi's aunt before she could return. So that Papa thought she was dead for years until Jefferson got Mama out whatever dungeon was under the hospital then. And you both went to the well where you got married later, and Papa brought back magic, just as Emma's love for Henry broke the first Dark Curse, who nobody knew at the time was Papa's grandson. Is that about right?"

"Ah...I think so." Belle nodded, looking across at Rumple. He blinked at her, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing as she was: Certainly a _lot_ had happened in such a short period of time. And that wasn't even the whole story.

"Great." Oliver dropped his pencil. "So I'm gonna start trying to fit all that into five pages by Thursday. You people ought to send Henry a thank-you note for keeping this stuff straight, jeez."

* * *

Archie gave Figaro a scratch behind the ears, staring at his appointment planner. He was glad he'd hired Jake Newton to be his assistant, he needed the help now more than ever. He had all three Golds in now, plus Neal Nolan and Tommy Herman, plus a handful of other, lower profile patients like the odd social anxiety session from Bashful or a bit of marriage counselling. Robbi Mills seemed to be doing well, but Archie was keeping an eye on her. Especially since his last "session" with Zelena,-which always entailed her mocking everything from his past as a cricket to the pattern of his sweater, with a mix of complaining and whining about how unfair her confinement was,-revealed she was upset that Robbi had chosen not to visit her for the past two weeks.

Not that he was concerned on Zelena's behalf, exactly. If Robbi felt uncomfortable, she shouldn't associate with her mother until Zelena could make some progress. Specifically, if she could stop belittling Robbi's independant choices. No, what concerned Archie was what Zelena might do, whether it was undoing her daughter's emotional progress, or...or something more physical.

He had a lot on his plate, but he needed to make room for one more: Emma.

Snow had asked if he had any openings for Emma available. Archie thought it was a bit odd, but also caught a note in Snow's voice he hadn't heard in ages. Not just the voice of a concerned mother, but the voice of a leader who was determined to make a change. She explained that she and David wanted to get Emma into therapy, to see if maybe they couldn't get her to make some changes. It would be under the guise of helping her get her job back faster, which was a bit misleading, but...Archie couldn't say it wasn't _untrue_.

Emma needed to make some changes to her way of thinking if she jumped to tampering with evidence as her first response to Hook's police brutality. Those problems were rife in the world outside of Storybrooke, they didn't need to start in here was well. And booting out the pirate was a good start, certainly.

And if Emma saw that her marriage was a sham and she was a miserable shell of herself, well, that would be a miracle Archie would happily contribute to, if he was able.

Figaro yipped at the buzzing cellphone on Archie's desk until he answered it. He was always forgetting to turn the sound on, he silenced it while he was in the office. "Hello?"

_"Hey, it's Tink. How's it going?"_

"Oh..." Archie gave Friday a look. He had an opening there... "Busy. Very busy. Can you keep a secret?"

 _"Can Figaro bark like an opera diva?"_ she chuckled. _"What is it?"_

"Snow got Emma to ask me about therapy. It's nothing specific, they sort of had to lie to get her to come in, but not by much. Emma thinks it'll get her job back faster, her parents are hoping she'll be less of a Stepford wife. David's keeping her spot open, but I hear he's asking around the former knights for a replacement deputy."

_"That's...all pretty great to hear. Good. Good. The Charmings bug me, but I don't think they mean badly. They're just stuck in a bubble of heroism and can't see out half the time."_

"Yeah..."

Archie used to be a member of the informally disbanded council Snow and David had set up while fighting against the Evil Queen. They _weren't_ bad people. Not at all. They'd just gotten a bit too exclusive once their family started coming back together, which Archie could understand from a therapist's point of view as overcompensating for being lonely and separated for so long. They overcompensated for a lot of failures really, it was a very Charming trait. Henry seemed to draw from the experiences of his extended family and spare himself from the worst of it, the pride and the fear and the overcompensating.

Maybe those therapy sessions he hadn't been ashamed to keep brushing up on over the years had helped, too...

_"Earth to Archie, Earth to Archie?"_

"Hmm? Sorry, what was that?" Archie asked, scribbling Emma down on Friday.

 _"I said,"_ Tink repeated herself, with a laugh in her voice. _"Did you hear about the class project for Heritage Day? Garrick has to do a family tree, and write a story about his family history. I think he's going to end up writing about how you met Gepetto, fair warning. He considers you...I dunno what exactly, but you're part of the family. Maybe like an uncle or something with cute taste in black-and-white dogs."_

"Oh. Well that's, um, that's nice. Why that story exactly?"

 _"Well I think he plans on_ more _than that, but that's the last thing I heard before I saw him off to the bus. I'm letting August pick him up this afternoon and take him to Granny's, by the way. I still don't trust that puppet as far as I can throw him, but, if he wants to try acting like a grownup I'll give him a chance."_

Figaro yipped, hopping up so his front feet were on Archie's knees, sniffing the little box Tinker Bell's voice was coming from.

" _Archie? Archie what_ is _that?"_

"Figaro says hi-" Archie leaned away...and his dog followed, little canine nails digging into his leg. "Ow, _ow_ , hey, c'mon boy, take it easy!"

 _"Well put him on then,"_ Tink giggled from her end as he held the phone on speaker, just a little closer to the snuffly snout. Just so he'd stopped climbing him. _"Hi Figaro! How are you baby? I've got to go now, so be good for Archie, and I'll see you later. Yeah?"_

Figaro whined.

_"Yeah, goodnight boy. Night Archie!"_

"Night Tink, bye." He put the phone away and ruffled Figaro's ears. "C'mon, time for bed buddy. Tomorrow is another day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duuuuuuuunnnnnn...
> 
> During next week's hiatus, there will be a collection of blankets to bundle characters in. The extra large blanket pile will go towards burrito'ing the Golds, the smaller-sized blankets one will go towards Robbi. Thank you, I, and they, appreciate it. :)


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *swears at everything*
> 
> Let's just assume I won't be posting jack-a-diddly squat until further notice: But on a lighter note, that means chapter 50 will be very special. :)

When Rumpelstiltskin left the apartment, Belle sent Oliver back up to get his forgotten coat. So they stood there at the front door of the library, in silence, except for the echo of their son's shoes pounding up the stairs. Silent, until Belle said, "I think that went well."

"Yes. Very nice. Thank you for inviting me over, it was quite nice." Manners he could do. Polite, if distant, he could manage. "I had a nice time."

"How nice." She smiled, biting her lip. It took him an embarrassing five seconds to realize she was teasing him. He must have said "nice" three times in one comment. Ah.

They were an arm's length and a half apart. He wondered if that was too close. His palms were sweating, slickening his grip on his cane's handle. He really didn't need to let it slip out of his hand, he would not be held responsible for his actions should he slip on the sidewalk and wind up on bedrest _again_. And yet, he couldn't stand the thought of stepping away. It was only about a quarter to seven, maybe a bit later. But he really didn't want to press his luck. They'd dug up some of the past without digging up any landmines, but he intended to keep it that way. It had been a _nice_ dinner. And he wanted to keep it that way.

"So...are you coming to the festival?" Belle asked.

"Not...likely. I don't think I can take the crowd." Rumpelstiltskin answered slowly, feeling shame. He hated this. He hated telling Belle he was too scared of people to go out to a festival he usually enjoyed. And she sounded so hopeful about it, too. "Maybe-"

"No, no," she shook her head, not betraying the slightest hint of disappointment. "You know your limits, it's alright. Is there anything you want me and Oliver to get for you? That yarn from Mrs. Homer, some jam from Anton's stall?"

"Um...I'll let you know, maybe, I never know what I'm buying until I see it, but...if there is some of that blueberry jam, I'd like two jars of it. Oliver knows the kind. I'll have the shortbread over by Friday."

"Jam, shortbread by Friday. Right. Thank you." She bit her lip, nodding along. "Anything else?"

"Just the shortbread." Putting a little chocolate on something, or adding anything to a foodstuff, tended to make people thing it was a different item altogether. Muffins and cupcakes for example.

"Right..." Belle replied slowly, looking...he wasn't sure what to make of that look on her face, but then Oliver was bounding back with his coat.

He ruffled his son's hair and bid him a goodnight, nodded to Belle and did the same bidding, and limped out to where he'd parked by the curb. He was headed home, feeling...comfortable. He certainly wasn't the sweaty mess he'd been driving to the library, and he wasn't glowing with joy, but he was comfortable. It went well. That was good. Today was Tuesday, was it? He had another day or so before he had to start baking.

It occurred to him far too late, as he was pulling into the driveway, that Belle's "anything else?" might've been a request to know if _he_ needed anything else, not a request to know what else he was supplying. Well, that thought would only keep him up for the rest of the night.

Hurray for anxiety.

* * *

The house was too quiet.

Regina had been in her office after dinner, checking over permits and the like for Heritage Day. She had the radio on playing something instrumental and non-grating on her nerves, but when she switched it off after she was done packing things into her briefcase to take to town hall tomorrow, she noticed the house was eeriely quiet. It was only seven. She expected Robbi to be doing homework in the kitchen, or in the living room. Maybe she'd finished by now and was watching the Food Network or a movie, or was quietly poking around in the kitchen looking at ingredients or cookbooks.

Robbi was a very quiet child, but sometimes Regina could hear her humming snatches of songs to herself, or murmuring aloud from a book if she was puzzling something over. For it to be _this_ quiet...

Regina checked downstairs first. She wasn't in the kitchen, living room, downstairs bathroom, or laundry room. So Regina headed upstairs. If Robbi _wasn't_ in the upstairs bathroom or her bedroom, then they would have a problem and Regina would make full use of her stepson-in-law sheriff.

Robbi's room was sort of plain. It had been a guest room, all the furniture was dark walnut wood and the walls were painted a pale, ashy blue, the carpet an off-white. There was one industrial-looking square mirror on one wall, and one painting of a wintery river on another. They'd moved in a desk and chair that had been from Henry's now-unused bedroom for schoolwork, but, Robbi's own personality was slowly bleeding in with trinkets and books being left out on the flat surfaces, or stacked up on her nightstand, as she settled in. Her most personal feature was Diana sitting on her pillow, and keeping her shoes scattered around the floor.

Which was why Regina turned the lights on, not liking the idea of tripping over a mary-jane in the dark. Robbi's head popped up from the other side of the bed. She was clutching Diana, her eyes were red but dry. Regina circled around the bed, frowning. "What's the matter?"

"N-nothing." She muttered, playing with Diana's ears. "I'm okay, it's nothing."

"Hmm. Did _nothing_ happen at school, maybe? You know you can talk to me, right?"

"Can...can we talk about it tomorrow, please?" Robbi begged, drawing up her knees, cradling her stuffed fox protectively. "I don't...I'm not ready to talk about it. Yet."

Regina wasn't so sure she liked that answer, but, it was still something. She crouched down, giving Robbi's shoulder a squeeze. "You want to talk about it tomorrow maybe? I hear you've got some paper due this week about family history. I'll bet Miss Belle could tell you how your father became the one and only person to rob from the Dark One."

"Really? Daddy did that? And he wasn't hurt or anything?"

"So I hear. Sounds like a neat story anyway, hmm? We can swing by the library after school maybe."

"Okay..." Robbi nodded slowly. "Okay. Maybe after school. Alright."

There was something odd about how she answered, but Regina couldn't put her finger on it. It was probably about this family project though. Regina had to drop off their last round of library books before they were overdue, and she overheard some people talking about it. Belle mentioned she and Rumpelstiltskin were having dinner to discuss things with Oliver. Robbi _hadn't_ mentioned it, but the assignment was given on Monday.

The same day they'd visited the asylum...

If Zelena had told this little girl some warped story, some perversion of history, then Regina was going to make the executive decision she should have made ages ago and cut that witch off from Robbi faster than you could say "I'm melting" and leave her to rot in isolation. She'd check on that, maybe with Archie, too, while Robbi was in school tomorrow. If she'd been smart she would have demanded for psychiatric help before allowing Zelena to move back to her farmhouse. Before letting her near Robbi. But she didn't.

Now, something ugly was coming to a head, and Regina didn't know if they were ready.

* * *

Oliver envied every storybook that ended with "and they lived happily ever after" right now.

He had until tomorrow afternoon to finish this paper, and he'd stalled. It just looked so clinical on the paper, so stale. It hadn't sounded stale while Mama and Papa were telling the story, and he had plenty of material to work with from history. (Note to self: _Negotiate terms of contract in detail before signing paperwork_.) Maybe it was difficult because he knew there was no "happily ever after", really. Eventually, Papa always screwed up, or Mama walked away, or both. The place it ended...didn't. It didn't have an ending.

Then there was stupid-lucky Opal, who's parents nailed it on the second try post-curse. Or Garrick, who's parents weren't together but at least he had a coherent family structure to go home to. The only other kid that wasn't buzzing about their paper and new history was Robbi. Who was absent since Mr. Whitney took attendance...

Robbi asked if she could be excused to the restroom just afterwards. She'd come in late again and didn't have a chance to take off her coat, so noby minded that she'd left wearing it. Mr. Whitney didn't seem to notice she was missing yet, either, as she sat in the back row and rarely asked questions in class, and there were no worksheets to pass out or assignments to turn in today. And, come to think of it as they were leaving for the next class, hadn't Robbi taken her backpack with her?

Uh-oh.

"Uh...guys," he caught Opal by the sleeve of her sweater as they were walking out. "Where did Robbi go for so long?"

Garrick looked around at the other studens in the hall. "Uh...maybe she's sick in the girl's room?"

"Maybe...but she's also wearing her coat, and I think she took her backpack with her."

Opal raised her eyebrows. "You think she ran? Robbi? Where would she run, _why_ would she run?"

Oliver didn't know. He did know that they should probably tell someone. Or do something. Just...something had to be done. He looked to his friends for an idea, and Garrick looked stumped. Opal looked around at the emptying hall, students going to their next classes, and nodded down one hall.

"We got two choices. Either go look for her, or tell somebody else to go look for her. Me? I'm climbing the fence, 'cause if Robbi's running, something is _really_ wrong."

* * *

Robbi hadn't had the nerve to _not_ go to school, even if she stood there dithering at the door until she was almost late. But when Mr. Whitney started taking attendance, Robbi just felt like she was going to go crazy if she had to sit at a desk listening to a teacher while her head felt like it was stuffed full of bees at war with the butterflies in her tummy. She asked to go to the restroom and left the hall pass thingie hanging on the doorknob before scooting down the hall.

She had never climbed a fence before like Opal did, so she chose to walk out the front door instead. It was shockingly easy.

She'd never skipped school before, wasn't even sure what a kid was supposed to do when they weren't in school. Summer vacation was different...supposedly. Robbi just spent longer times at home reading library books one at a time, week to week. The street at this hour wasn't very busy, nobody really seemed to pay Robbi any attention. She ended up on Main Street before she knew it, and tried not thinking about the last time she walked down this street alone.

Her barely-there scars were itching as Robbi's eyes fell on the pawnshop sign. The clock tower read it was barely eleven. The Cadillac wasn't around, but the open sign was, er, _open_.

Robbi didn't talk enough with Henry. He was something like her cousin, if he was Aunt Regina's son, and he had been old enough to remember a lot. He was nice to her, but he wasn't crazy about Mum, and by extension, when Robbi was stuck by Mum's side, he couldn't really talk to her without...Mum. Hmm. Mum wasn't around now.

Her courage almost deserted Robbi when this bell over the pawnshop's door jangled.

Surprise rooted her to the spot. She had never been inside the pawnshop before...it was smaller than she expected, but maybe it just felt that way because of the stuff everywhere. Lamps, a wall full of clocks, silver, crockery, china, books, jewelry-Was that a kayak? Robbi spun in a full circle, not having the slightest idea what was from this world and what was from the old one. Her eyes settled on a crossbow hanging up on one wall. It looked smaller than a crossbow should be, child-sized or something. But then, Robbi had never seen a real crossbow before. Or a bow of any kind. A bag full of arrows was hanging on a wall peg behind the glass counters, with feathers tied to the ends.

"Sorry for the wait," Henry apologized, stepping out from the back. "I had a bit of-Robbi? What are you doing here?"

"Uh..." Robbi swallowed. "I...I need to talk. To you. Please don't call Aunt Regina, not yet."

Henry had Mrs. Nolan's eyes, Robbi realized. And Emma's, probably. His hair was too dark though, more brown than black. His nose was too big, though, something about his eyebrows, too. Maybe he looked like his father. People always said they looked like their mother or father, didn't they? Why? Couldn't they just look like themselves?

"Sure, sure..." Henry waved to the back room. Robbi didn't, couldn't, move. "What can I help you with?"

"Um...it's...complicated. I have, um, well we're-I was talking to-What I mean is..." Her eyes were hot, her face was hot, and she felt like she was going to start crying but desperately didn't want to. She wasn't sad but... "N-Neal Nolan is eleven. He's gonna be, I guess. Yeah?"

"Yes..."

"And he was born when Mum was defeated, as the Wicked Witch? That's what I always heard."

"Yeah, that's right. Busy day. Very busy." Henry sounded far away for a minute, then looked back at her. "What about it?"

"It's just that...that I know, um," Robbi played with the fur on her coat. "I know there was some magic stuff that had me born early, but my birthday is in September. That's five months apart. It's not very long."

"No. It's not. Not...Emma's finest work," Henry wrinkled his nose. "Not her finest week either."

It oddly wasn't Emma's bad deed that Robbi was fretting over, the thought hadn't actually occured to her. She looked around until she settled on the crossbow on the wall. "How long did it take your parents to have a baby together?"

"Ah...I dunno," Henry blushed, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I've never asked much about that part of Mom's life and Dad is...gone. It was a while though, I guess, I can't see my mom gambling her heart away like that." The embarrassment faded into something chillier, something concerned but nervous too. "Robbi, is this about your parents?"

"I just...it's not...it took Mrs. Nolan awhile to figure out she was pregnant, right? Like a month or two? How-How pregnant was Mum when I was born, I mean, how long did she and my father know each other? Was it an accident like Garrick, or was it like you, because I don't...I don't think Mum loved him, and no one talks about Daddy, except to say he's a hero and that's great but I don't want to learn about a hero I want to know what happened to Daddy and I thought it was Hyde that killed him and the more I think about it the more I realize Mum isn't in pictures with Daddy, or anywhere near your family before I was born, and the only picture of anyone with Daddy I've ever seen is Aunt Regina but Mum said she can't have children and now I can't stop thinking about something terrible Neal said-"

"Robbi, Robbi? _Robin_." Henry was kneeling in front of her now, holding her shoulders. "Breathe. You're turning puce, kid, take a deep breath."

Robbi swallowed, inhaling through her nose sharply and breathing out slowly. She wasn't crying yet. At least.

"Better?" Henry asked, patting her shoulders. "Alright. Now, what did Neal say?"

"Um...h-he didn't say it to me. He said it to Oliver weeks ago, um...s-something about how he was born. When he called Oliver a bastard, he said, um, that his dad knocked around his mom? Or something like that? Like...he tricked her into having a baby, I guess?" Robbi wasn't entirely sure where babies came from. For a long time she just figured it was something two people decided to do together, like buy a house or get married, only it involved growing a human inside a belly.

Henry was watching her carefully, and that was scary, too. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Um...but...well I don't know my dad. Not really. But I don't think he'd do that."

"No, no he didn't, you're right," he nodded slowly, pressing his lips together. "It's...it's complicated-"

"Mum tricked him." Robbi blurted, the ugliest, sharpest thought of all spilling off her tongue. It should've felt like her lips were bleeding after those three words flew out. Instead she just felt like her test was being squashed. "That's why she's not in pictures and why she doesn't say anything nice about him, it's cause she doesn't even _care_ about him, isn't it? Isn't it?"

Henry stared at her for a long time. Or maybe only a second. Robbi couldn't tell anymore. He tugged her forward into a hug, suddenly, and in her gut she knew that the answer was more horrible than she was imagining it could be. Her face was hot and damp and her nose was burning, and she was so glad he didn't say "it's okay" because it was _not_ okay, and she still wasn't sure what _it_ was yet.

"I need to call my mom, and then I'm gonna take you home and we'll straighten it all out." That's what he said, instead. "I'm not going to lie, it's not a good story but you aren't to blame for anything she did, not even a little, and oh my god, Robin loved you so much he was ready to fight a god to bring you home."

Robbi swallowed. "He fought God?"

"No, not God, he fought a-" Henry laughed, but it was a weird, thin laugh as he shook his head. "We'll talk about that, later. First I'm gonna call my mom. You want to sit in the back? I have some cookies back there."

Robbi nodded woodenly, and let Henry shepherd her into the back of the shop. It was even more cluttered back here, with less stuff from the Land Without Magic. This was where Mr. Gold must've kept his most magical stuff, the air felt funny against her skin here. Or maybe that's because she had tears on her hot face. She swiped them away consciously, perched on the edge of an armchair with a cookie in her hand while Henry ducked into the front room, dialing his phone.

It wasn't a bad cookie, but Robbi couldn't really taste it. Her stomach was flipping and her chest was tight, and the back room didn't have enough light in it. She could see, but it still wasn't enough. The windows were covered with thin drapes, and her skin felt like it was shrinking around her bones. She itched at the barely-there scars under her clothes, hearing Henry's voice up front but not focused enough to hear the words.

He was calling Aunt Regina.

She swallowed, her mouth dry now that she'd eaten the cookie, and she wished she hadn't. She felt sick now. And then she noticed they had a back door in the pawnshop...

* * *

Henry barely finished telling Regina who he had here and why when there was a swirl of purple smoke, and his mother was there.

"Where is she?" she asked, turning a full circle.

"In the back. Um...so...how do we start?"

Regina scowled down at the floor, crossing her arms. "I don't know...do you have this written down somewhere?"

Henry had writing his story almost right where the first book left off, with baby Emma and little Pinocchio in fostercare. The books they'd turned up in The Land of Untold Stories hinted that Isaac was a really, really, _really_ lousy author that had just picked and chose his way through the juicy tales and left the others by the wayside. (Sometimes he wondered if that was why those stories were all untold, but then his head started spinning and he had to turn down the meta.) He was pretty meticulous, and if it wasn't _officially_ recorded yet, he might have some drafts of it in his un-magical notebooks.

"I can go home and pick up some of my books if you want to take her home and...calm her down first. She hasn't burst into tears exactly, yet, but I kept expecting it."

Regina growled, but it sounded more like it came from a place of concern than frustration. "A part of me always hoped this day would never come, but I always knew it would...I'd just hoped she'd be older so she could...understand, without having to explain..."

"Well..." Henry hesitated, trying to think of the most PG explanation for _"your mother sexually assaulted your father while wearing Maid Marian's face to malicious hurt your aunt as your father was her True Love"_ and drew a natural blank. Oh. "Well, I think that saying she made herself look like Maid Marian and tricked him is a good start. I mean not a _good_ start, no, I mean it's a good...a good way to cover it?"

"It'll have to do. I'm not letting this drag out any longer than it has too." Regina raised her chin, standing up straighter. Henry figured queenly posture made her feel more in control, and who was he to argue? "I'll take her home, you come by as quick as you can."

This was a solid plan, but there was one glaring problem. When they walked into the back room...Robbi was gone. Henry didn't hear her leave, but she must've, because she wasn't there anymore.

Oh hell. Henry groaned, pointing in the direction of the back door. "She's bolted."

"Fuck," Regina hissed, marching out the back. "You get your books, I'll start looking. Maybe call your grandfather, either of them, both, whatever! We need to find her before she gets hurt."

Henry concurred, and dug out his cell phone as he grabbed his coat and keys. First, David, the sheriff. Then Gold. He could start gathering up books so Henry could get back and start looking. They still had a plan, it just had a ten-year-old, blonde complication in a fur-trimmed coat running scared in Storybrooke on a Wednesday afternoon...

* * *

Dad dropped them off at Granny's earlier. He'd gotten a call on his cell, but Neal wasn't sure who it was from, just that it got Dad moving in "action mode" and had him sending a call to Emma asking if she would mind helping him.

Something _really_ bad must've happened, and Neal and Tommy tried passing the time to think of what it might be, but that got boring really fast. Tommy swiped one of the print-out kid's menus with the lame activities on them, and a pack of crayons, and that helped. A little. Neal really didn't want to mess with his homework sitting in his backpack, especially this family history report thing. That was going to be sooo much writing, and he knew he worked better if he went in little bursts, but it was stupid. Everybody knew his family history, he didn't have anything new to tell.

Tommy thought it was lame too, and Neal wished Phil was around, for a minute, before remembering Phil ratted on them. Traitor.

Neal had taken to staring out the window while Tommy fumbled through some math homework that was due today, and blinked. It wasn't later than eleven-thirty, but wasn't that Robbi Mills out there walking on the sidewalk?

Granny was arguing over the doneness of a hamburger with a customer, and Ruby was cleaning up a spilled tea. Taking a risk, Neal slipped out the booth. Tommy was too busy counting on his fingers to notice, so Neal easily slid out the front door and got away. Sure enough, it was Robbi hurrying down the sidewalk, with her head down and hood up, her fists jammed into her pockets. What was her problem?

"Hey! Hey Robbi!"

Robbi kept walking, so Neal jogged to catch up. He was glad he hadn't taken off his skull-and-crossbones coat in the diner, 'cause it was awfully cold out here.

"Hey, what's up?" Neal asked, skidding to a stop at her side. "Did you skip school with Oliver's gang or something, what gives?" She wouldn't answer him though. "C'mon Robbi, are you mad at me? Talk to me. What're you doing out of school before lunch?"

"I ran away," she muttered, and he barely heard her.

"You ran away? C'mon, you get freaked out when there's a substitute teacher, why did you run away from school?"

"I can't talk about it right now, please leave me alone." Robbi looked at him, and Neal was taken aback by how sick Robbi looked. She was pale, but there were big splotches of red on her face, her eyes were pink and watery, and her voice sounded thick and funny.

"What happened?" Robbi shook her head. They almost walked into the street but a car whizzing by stopped her short. Jeez, Neal looked around, he had to start paying attention or they were gonna get splattered. "C'mon, Robbi, just tell me what's going on? You're acting really creepy."

For some reason, this made her whimper. Neal didn't hang out around girls a lot, but he heard they cried easy and acted really weird, but this seemed...a little much. "Did you get in a fight at school?"

"No..."

"Did Opal curse at you?"

"No..."

"Did somebody _die_?" He was running out of reasons for Robbi to act so weird.

"No...n-no, I-I can't talk about it. No."

"Robbi-"

"Leave me alone!" she screeched suddenly, shooting across the street so fast her hood flew back. "Just leave me alone!"

Neal couldn't exactly go back to the diner without getting caught, so, he ran across the street too. He chased Robbi down the street to the park, and when she tripped over something on the path he grabbed her arm before she could slip away. "Stop running, I'm trying to help you! Hanging out with those three freaks is making you really weird Robbi, c'mon-"

"I _am_ a freak!" she shouted, squirming like crazy. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you!"

"EVERYTHING!"

"YOU'RE SURE ACTING LIKE IT! CALM DOWN!"

"Excuse me."

Robbi almost slipped away from Neal's grip, (he only had the one good hand right now, thanks to Oliver,) when he paused to look at Archie Hopper, watching them patiently. His dog was standing at his side, with his head cocked aside like he didn't understand what the small humans were doing. Robbi sniffled, and Archie came forwards, digging a tissue out of his pocket for her. She took it after Neal dropped her arm, and he couldn't tell what Archie was thinking when the redheaded man looked at him.

"Neal. Shouldn't you be with your father?"

"Uh..." _Crap_. "I was, um, I was just-"

Archie was ignoring him now though, looking at Robbi. "Is there something you need to talk about Robbi?"

Neal figured Archie probably would've made a nice mom. He was always asking people how they felt and if they wanna talk and stuff Mom did, and Miss Belle. Robbi pet Figaro's head, crumpling the tissue in her other hand. He didn't think she'd answer him for a minute, but then she gave a little nod and Archie let her have Figaro's leash.

"There's a bench over there, why don't you go get settled with Figaro?"

When they walked up the path, Archie turned back to Neal and frowned. "Don't hold someone back like that. You weren't helping, even if you thought you were. Do you want to help your friend?"

It was hard to think of Robbi as a friend when she didn't talk to him or play with him anymore, hell, she made Phil rat on him. She didn't want to help _him_ anymore, and if she was just gonna scream and run, why should he help her? But...well...Robbi was always quiet as a mouse. She didn't do stuff like this. Ever. Something terrible must have happened, and he'd be a poor Charming if he didn't offer to help.

"What do I do?"

Archie glanced over at Robbi. "Just go back to wherever you're supposed to be, and tell an adult that Robbi's with me at the park."

Ugh...he was gonna have to tell Granny. After she was through yelling at him, probably. "Fine..." he grunted, turning around to walk back. Maybe he'd get lucky and Dad or Killian or Emma would catch him first. He was half-right at least. Some non-Lucas caught him first.

 _Regina_.

"What the hell are you doing?" she scowled, throwing her hands up. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. Just go back to wherever you came from, I'm busy-"

"Robbi's in the park with Archie Hopper."

There. Neal had helped. It wasn't at all as hard as he thought it would be, and he found he didn't mind Regina flicking her wrist and poofing him back to the diner where Ruby and Granny took turns scolding him even after he told them what happened. Well, he didn't mind as much, at least. It still kinda sucked. Weren't heroes supposed to get rewarded for doing good things? Sheesh.

He still wondered if Robbi made out okay though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so I don't rant about this in the comments, (although if the spirit moves you, go ahead,) let's get this out the way:
> 
> NO WAY is Zelena emotionally or mentally capable of raising a child without some hardcore therapy for her jealousy and mommy issues, and Robin shouldn't have had to share a lick of custody with her until then, and even then Maine law still prohibits "Mummy" from gaining custody regardless of how much she whines about the kid being hers!!! It's hers because she assaulted Robin!!! Don't let weird guilt trick you into thinking you need to give Zelena anything Regina, she's using you as an enabler!!! ROBIN DIED SAVING HIS DAUGHTER AND ZELENA PROFITED FROM HIS DEMISE!!!
> 
> Thank you for you time. I can't really say when I'll have a regular posting schedule again, but sometime soon you'll see one Unresolved ficlet I have finished, and I'm gonna try to get this Revelry fic under control, amidst other real-world things. Ugh.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect irregular updates in your future people! *irregular victory dance* Also, in case you missed it, here is a link to the reason Gold is mentioned as looking so tired here. It'll come up again in the next chapter or two as well, so: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10439574/chapters/31599471

Last night had been...well it was difficult to describe, really, but Belle thought it went well. Due to the fact that they were talking about a rocky history, of course there were awkward pauses and such, but nothing truly bad had happened. Oliver seemed interested in the notes he'd made and spent last night scribbling out ideas in a notebook, but she wasn't sure how that was going. Maybe she'd asked after he got home from school.

The one moment Belle kept coming back to was when she and Rumple were left alone downstairs in the library. Should she have done something differently? She should have said something else? Maybe. Or maybe not.

She'd almost forgotten how terribly uncertain this situation was.

Belle wasn't sure she was capable of talking about it with anyone yet, as she wasn't even sure what it was she was thinking yet. So when Astrid arrived that morning, she decided to put it aside and work out the final details on the bake sale. Heritage Day was going to sneak up on them if they weren't careful.

Astrid had forgotten the sandwich she made for lunch, prompting Leroy to bring it around with the bonus surprise of the twins. Peter and Joseph made themselves at home on the floor, declaring it was a picnic if you ate on the floor, and there was no real harm in that as long as they weren't _eating_ off the floor, right? Nope. No trouble there. Trouble at the school however...

Their phones rang at the same time, Belle's and Astrid's. Hornsby and his secretary were making calls again because, apparently, Robbi had gone missing after attendance was taken. And afterwards, Opal and Oliver and Garrick never made it to their next class either. Leroy leaned in sort of close to eavesdrop over Astrid's phone and muttered something about putting barbed wire over the fence as he hurried out to start looking before the phone call even ended. Astrid decided to stay put in the library in case they came there, and to keep an eye on the twins. Belle was too busy snatching up her coat, phone, and keys to pay attention to what the twins had to say on that.

She sent a call to Tink, who thankfully was already on her way to check out the well. Belle couldn't get in touch with Henry or Gold, which worried her enough that she decided to go by the pink house. If nothing else, perhaps she could borrow the Cadillac since it wasn't at the shop? Or maybe Oliver was already there? The image of her baby and that horrible dark bruise, that was _still_ healing, danced behind Belle's eyelids, making her walk faster. If anyone laid so much as a finger on her son this time, she was going to turn them into a toad.

(And Oliver was in trouble too, for scaring her half to death, but only after she got him back safe and sound of course.)

The Cadillac was in the driveway, and when Belle knocked, Rumple answered the door. He only opened the door a bit, at first, peering out with caution before seeing it was her. "Belle?"

"Um. Hi. I couldn't, um, I couldn't get in touch?" She made some vague cell phone gesture with her hands before forcing them down. Her fingers twisted with each other, nervously, in front of her body. "Oliver's missing from the school again. His friends, all three, too, um. Have you seen him?"

Rumple's eyebrows pressed together. "No...no I haven't. Henry had Robbi Mills at the shop earlier though."

"What?"

"Miss Mills is...she's making certain connections about her parents that have her rather distraught. She slipped out the back door before Henry could get her to Regina, but I wasn't aware Oliver had run off too."

Belle really, really had to check that contact information at school to see if she'd gotten Rumple's information back down or not. She'd do that right after they got Oliver home. "Tink's checking the well, Astrid's at the library, Leroy went to get his brothers to help, ah, Henry and Regina?"

"Out looking for Robbi."

"Good. Good. Um...do you have any idea where she'd go? Or Oliver? Or...god, anyone?" Belle groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was very tired all of a sudden. "He's grounded as soon as I get him back, oh my god."

Rumple laughed weakly, and Belle took a moment to look closer at his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked...tired. Maybe he'd had a restless night. That made her second-guess whether or not dinner last night had actually gone as well as she thought it had.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that her cell phone rang before she could dwell on that for more than a moment. The caller ID read that it was Emma, and Belle's heart gave an unpleasant thump. She prayed that it was good news.

"Hello?"

* * *

Garrick had never sat in Mrs. Jones' Volkswagen Beetle before. The seats were pretty comfy, even if the upholstery was cracking like old car seats did. He did wonder if riding in the car like this meant he and Oliver were arrested though.

They'd split up from Opal, figuring they could cover more ground that way. Garrick and Oliver had been headed in the same direction, initially, because Garrick was headed for the mayor's mansion while Oliver checked in town around the town hall and stuff, but Mrs. Jones caught them before they could split up. She was looking for Robbi too, but she wouldn't let them go back to looking. She said she was taking them to the library to let Miss Belle handle them...until Mom showed up.

Uh-oh. Garrick forgot he was grounded, starting last Monday. And he wasn't supposed to keep running away from school, he forgot that. Maybe she'd go easy on him because it was for a good cause?

Mrs. Jones called Miss Belle while she was driving. Oliver had to sit in the back because he tried slipping out the front seat eariler, but the Bug was only so big, so they could hear everything: "Belle? Yeah, hi, uh, so Robbi Mills ran away from school, and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an eye out for her, but I've got Oliver and Garrick with me right now-What?...What? No, no...no, he's fine, he's right here, I'm bringing them around to the library okay-Yes, fine. Do you want to talk to him?...okay, one sec."

She gave Oliver the phone, reaching behind her head to pass the device to him. "Hi Mama...yeah, I'm okay....no, they didn't...nope, he's not here. Garrick is though...yeah I sorta figured I was...yes ma'am...I will."

When Oliver gave the phone back, Miss Belle must've hung up already, because Mrs. Jones just set the phone down and kept driving. She did keep looking in the rearview mirror though. Garrick twisted around, but all he saw behind them was an empty road. And Oliver sitting back there with his arms crossed.

"My dad says you and he used to be friends," Garrick chirped, just as the silence was getting uncomfortable. "Was your last name really Swan? That's pretty. Booth just makes me think of Granny's Diner, y'know, 'cause of sitting at the booths I guess."

"Uh...yeah. How is August by the way?" Mrs. Jones asked, shifting her gaze from the mirror to Garrick. "Where's he living nowadays?"

"Well right now he's visiting here, but I dunno where he was before that-"

"What?" Mrs. Jones tapped the brakes just a little too hard at a stop sign, making their seatbelts catch. "Sorry, sorry. When-When did August get back?"

"Uh...Sunday? Saturday? He came around for my birthday. I'm nine now." Garrick was always the youngest kid in his class. He didn't always pay attention and he wasn't great at math, but the teachers never talked about sending him back to third grade, so he must've been doing good. "He's got a new motorcycle, and kind of a beard, maybe you didn't recognize him. He's staying over at Granny's."

Mrs. Jones blinked. She looked kinda confused. "That's...interesting. I didn't hear about that."

Oliver shifted in the back. "That's surprising..." he muttered.

"What was that?" Mrs. Jones raised an eyebrow.

"I said _surprising_." He spoke up, clearing his throat. The backseat squeaked when he shifted. "'Cause you know...you're a deputy."

Mrs. Jones narrowed her eyes, looking at the rearview mirror. "I guess snark is a Gold trait..." and then the funniest thing happened.

Her eyes and face kinda softened, and her lips pursed together thoughtfully as she looked back at the road. She looked kinda sad for a minute, as turned down main street and drove to the clock tower. Garrick wondered why. All he saw when he squinted into the rearview mirror was still just Oliver.

* * *

It wasn't Archie's quiet office. The wind was cold, the park bench was freezing, and her hearing was muffled through her hood. But it was still Archie, and Figaro was resting his head on her knees, so Robbi found it wasn't too different. She could talk about it, if she could just find where to start.

Archie didn't say anything when he came back, just sitting there on the bench looking around the park. Maybe it was nice in...anytime that wasn't winter. Robbi wasn't crazy about winter. At the farmhouse, everything outside was gray skies and white snow, and it was just...depressing, to look out the frosted windows. At Aunt Regina's house, it was still snow and gray skies and frosted glass, but there was more movement outside. She didn't want to think much about Aunt Regina right now.

"Did you know my dad?" she asked, getting her thoughts in some semblance of order.

"Not...personally. We weren't friends, or enemies. He was a perfectly nice man, a gentleman you might even say, but we didn't talk much."

Figures. The one adult Robbi felt she could start talking to about this without getting the "he died a hero" bit didn't really know Daddy either. Well...Archie could still listen well. "We have an assignment at school that sounded fun, at first. We had to write a paper on some family stories, um, like stuff before we were born. But I didn't know enough to fill the pages, so I asked Mum how she met Daddy...but she wouldn't tell me. And now I know it's because she didn't really know him at all, she didn't even like him."

Archie was quiet again. Robbi gave Figaro's ears a scratch, and he shut his doggy-brown eyes. Sometimes Archie was quiet while she was talking, and she talked more, trying to explain herself. That seemed to be happening now.

"I don't...I mean there are pictures, right? That's like proof of something, right? And Mum's not in them,-actually I'm not sure she even knows how to use a camera,-but I guess Daddy didn't like her either? Only he's dead so I can't ask him, but shouldn't...if he was friends with the Charmings and Emma and Aunt Regina and stuff, wouldn't they have known he didn't like her? Why didn't anybody ever tell me that? I just...I think I should have known. That's what I mean."

Figaro made a noise, like he agreed. Or maybe his feet were cold in the snow. Archie hummed, adjusting his glasses. "Well...I'd say that you should know. The problem is that...relationships like this, well, they're very...very mature. They're so complex that some adults can't even understand them."

Robbi frowned. "So I should know...but I might not understand what I hear?"

Archie smiled ruefully. "Pretty much."

Well...that was dumb. Robbi had heard honesty was the best policy, and now she was left wondering what was the best policy when you couldn't understand honesty. This was getting more complicated, but that was supposed to be how therapy worked. You drag everything out, and then you sort it. There was one more thing she needed to drag out then, but it was arguably the most...difficult to voice. She was set to try though.

Only whatever words she'd strung together in her head faltered when she saw Aunt Regina walking double-time up the path.

No, not now, please no. Robbi wasn't ready to talk to her aunt about this. This nasty, nasty thought lurking in her head, she needed to hash it out with someone else first, ideally Archie. And maybe he gathered as much from something she did, just then, because he put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm going to talk to your aunt. Keep an eye on Figaro for me?"

What he meant, probably, was "don't run," but Robbi was okay with either option. She didn't really know where she was running. (In hindsight that seemed sort of...silly, although just thinking it made Robbi's stomach feel sour.) Leaving school still felt logical, but she didn't know where else to go now that she wasn't there. She'd lived in Storybrooke her whole life, but she didn't know her way around very well. It was humiliating, and she never realized how stupid she must look to other people. Oh god. Garrick and his friends must think she looked like a total moron right now.

"Robbi."

She wasn't sure how long she'd been staring into space, but now Aunt Regina and Archie were standing there. Okay...now what? Aunt Regina was fidgeting with her hands, and taking a deep breath in.

"We...need to talk. This is going to be...well...um," Aunt Regina swallowed. "I have Henry coming by the house, um, with his Author notes, if you'd want to see those but...is there something you need to talk about now?"

Robbi couldn't speak. Her throat felt tight. She didn't know what she wanted to know anymore, she just knew all of it was going to be bad. Oh. And there was something about a god in there, too, apparently. Maybe she should start there and work...well it could only get less complicated from there, right? Or maybe start simple. Like-

"What did she do to my father?" she blurted.

Aunt Regina froze for a second. Then she took a second deep breath and sat down on the bench beside Robbi, clasping her hands together. "Well...i-it's a long story. And I'm not entirely sure where to start...but I suppose I should start after the lost year, after Pan cast his curse. To stop it I had to sort of unravel the Dark Curse, and that sent everyone but Emma and Henry back to the Enchanted Forest."

"And that's where Mum was, and why you all came back to Storybrooke. But what does that have to do with Daddy?" Robbi didn't want to sound impatient, but, she was.

"Ah, well...I met your father there. He and the Merry Men helped us while we were dealing with Zelena, and-Your mother hates me, alright? That shouldn't be a secret, you might already know that. Our mother, Cora, she, er, had Zelena sort of like how Tinker Bell had Garrick, with a man she wasn't particularly in love with. The difference was that Cora didn't keep her, she abandoned her." Robbi knew that, Mum had told her that before. A lot, actually. "And a few years later, Cora married my father and had me. Zelena thinks I stole this...this life as a princess, with our mother, away from her. And somehow she met Rumple around the same time he was training me. She thinks I have everything that should be hers, so the whole thing where she kept Gold in a cage and kidnapped Neal as a baby? She was trying to whip up a time travel spell to change history. And while we thought she was dead afterwards, she had actually gone back in time behind Emma and Hook, and she...she did change something."

Okay...

"You know Robin Hood's wife is Maid Marian? Well, in the past, Emma escaped from jail with her. Being a hero, she just couldn't leave another prisoner behind, but somewhere along the line they left Marian alone and Zelena killed her. When they came back from the past...she kept posing as Marian, and because Robin was nothing if not an honorable man, he tried to pick up where they left off. That was when the Snow Queen came around, and rather ironically, Zelena was cursed. We still thought it was Marian though, so to save her live, Robin had to take her and Roland out of Storybrooke and...start over."

Why did she sound like she was going to cry? Robbi was starting to get the picture of how Mum had tricked Daddy, and it...it was bad. It _sounded_ horrible to wear somebody's wife's face like that, but then to have a child while you were doing it?

"It was some time in six weeks, in New York, that Zelena got pregnant. It was the vilest, foulest trick, but-"

"But _why_ did she do it?" Robbi asked, feeling sick to her stomach. "If she didn't-She wasn't even-"

Aunt Regina was holding Robbi's hands now, and she squeezed back because she felt like she was about to fall off the park bench. "I can't tell you why. I don't know why. I just know that-That your mother had tricked Robin into making a baby with her, and that was all she could talk about when we brought her back to Storybrooke and locked her up. She...she wanted you because...because..."

"Robbi. Your mother was abandoned as a child," Archie spoke up, reminding her that he was still there. "In her mind, she has never been loved. And I don't know if that's true or if that's what she _believes_ is true, but to her, having a child was a chance to fill the hole in her heart. That's not a healthy mindset, or a good reason to have a baby, and especially not the way it happened."

"But it was _not_ your fault," Aunt Regina stressed, brushing a loose curl out of Robbi's face. "And your father never once thought of you as anything less than his child. No matter what Zelena did or said, he was determined to take you home as soon as you were born and love you as much as Roland."

Roland. Who was gone now, with the Merry Men. Henry said something about that once, when Robbi was smaller. Something about how...how the Merry Men had left because Storybrooke was dangerous? And Roland's only family were the Merry Men, so, of course he didn't think of Mum as his mum, she must've stopped wearing Maid Marian's face by then. The Merry Men sure wouldn't considered her worthy of looking after their leader's children...

And _this_ was the nasty thought that Robbi didn't want to look at. _This_ was the problem that had been boiling in the back of her mind for as long as she had known about Roland, and maybe longer. She looked up at Aunt Regina, and her dark eyes were shiny and she was holding on to Robbi's hands like she'd vanish if she let go. Looking up at Archie, he just...he was wearing his therapist face, and Robbi wondered if he already knew the nasty thought. If he was trying to look calm because he knew Robbi was not, and Aunt Regina wouldn't be for long, and someone had to be sensible here. Archie was very good at his job like that.

Robbi shut her eyes and let her nasty, sharpest thought come out of her mouth: "Mum's a bad person."

Aunt Regina must've mistaken the meaning of her statement because she just gave her hands another squeeze. "I'm...afraid so-"

"No," Robbi wiggled her hands out of her aunt's grip. "She's a bad person. And you _knew_ that before I was even born."

It was painfully obvious, now, that M-That Zelena, was a bad person. A horrible person. A selfish liar that tricked somebody into staying with them by wearing their dead wife's face, just so _she_ could have a baby. Zelena's goal with the Black Cauldron probably hadn't even been her first try to spirit Robbi away to Oz, maybe she'd been trying it as soon as Robin figured out she wasn't Marian. No. Thinking about her entire life, Robbi could honestly say her mother must have tried several times before the Black Cauldron.

"Robbi, it's not-"

Robbi wrapping her arms around herself as she stood, backing away from the bench and Aunt Regina, trying to breathe. Oliver was upset when he accidentally blasted people away, and she was furious and scared and hurt, but she didn't want to hurt anybody. She couldn't be like Mum.

" _Why_ did you leave me with her?" she demanded. "She-After she did all this horrible stuff to Robin Hood, you just-When he died you just let her keep me? If she'd gotten out of the hospital before I was born, what would she have done? Killed him so she could keep m- _Did_ she kill him to keep me?"

"No! No, Robbi, she didn't kill Robin, not-" Aunt Regina stood up, holding her hands up like it would make things settle down. "That's a long story, Robbi, and maybe I should have told you sooner. But if we could just go home-"

"Um, Regina-" Archie interuppted, but Robbi was shaking now. Everything was burning and sick and her legs were wobbling. "I think we should-"

" _Why did you leave me with her?_ Everybody in town loves it when Miss Belle keeps Oliver from Gold, wh-why didn't anyone take me away from my mother? Sh-she sucks as a mum! I can't do anything, I can't be friends with anyone, I'm just stuck in-I can't be me! I have to be her's, not me, just her's! Do you even know what that's like?!"

Aunt Regina didn't move, her mouth gaping open. If she said something, Robbi couldn't hear it.

"Did it take people _dying_ to make everyone realize wh-what a terrible mother she is?" It certainly had started opening Robbi's eyes, but she was a child. Adults should know better. "That's why Roland and the Merry Men left without me, isn't it? It's not that they didn't love me, it's that they had to cut their losses if they were going to save even one of us."

Given the choice between the two of them, Robin Hood's child with Maid Marian, beloved wife, or his days-old child with an evil lying witch, Robbi would have picked Roland right now herself. Aunt Regina was trying to shake her head, her lips moved soundlessly for a moment like she wanted to answer that it wasn't true, but then she stopped. And she gave a slow, reluctant nod.

"I guess...I guess they did."

All Robbi heard for what could have been seconds or hours was her own breath, and white noise in her ears. She'd read the phrase "pull the rug out from underneath" before, might've used it in conversation even, but she'd never truly _felt_ it before. It felt like she was going to die from blind emotion, and she turned and ran before anything worse could happen today.

* * *

Astrid was there at the library to recieve Oliver and Garrick, and give them a gentle scolding while she checked them over for injuries. None that she could see, good, and Hook was nowhere around. Emma didn't stick around, giving a polite excuse and then dashing off to presumably keep searching for Robbi. Or Opal.

While she'd never considered it a bad thing that Opal was headstrong and independant, days like this made Astrid wish her daughter was just a little less...surprising. Just a smidge.

Belle rushed back to the library in the big black Cadillac, Mr. Gold at the wheel. They'd both surrounded Oliver, Belle reaching their son first and squashing him in a hug Gold was quick to join. There was nothing but relief on their faces, and considering the bruise still on Oliver's from the last time a member of the police department found him, Astrid understood completely.

"Oh my god, you scared me half to death!" she sighed, kissing the top of his head. "You have to stop cutting out of school like this, baby, my heart can't take a third time this month."

" _Mama_..."

"Listen to your mother," Gold smiled, ruffling Oliver's hair. "She's quite right. Even if your intentions were honorable."

"Am I grounded?" Oliver asked.

"Mm...your mother and I are going to discuss it," Gold hummed. "There are a lot of circumstances to consider here, but I dare say there's still a Heritage Day in your future."

Belle reluctantly let Oliver slip out of her hold, looking up at Astrid. "Is there any news on Robbi yet?"

"Not yet," Astrid shrugged. "Emma went out to look again, I think. She didn't stay long. I haven't heard from Henry yet, have you?"

"No, not yet."

"Henry's looking for her?" Garrick asked. His mother would be coming for him after they'd found Robbi, or maybe his grandfather. Or maybe they'd let August try his hand at some responsibility. Astrid hadn't asked about that, she'd been too busy fretting about her own daughter. Maybe, just maybe, Leroy was on to something about child-proofing that fence...

"She came asking him about her mother and...father," Gold said slowly. Astrid winced. "She's quite upset, at any rate."

This turned out to be an understatement. Not five minutes later, when Oliver and Garrick had each been given a sandwich since their lunchboxes were abandoned at school, (someone would have to get those...) the door to the library opened up.

Robbi was staring down at her feet, and she looked like she'd been crying. A lot. She had her arms wrapped around herself and Opal was at her side, with a hand on her shoulder like she'd had to guide Robbi here, and a worried, awkward look on her face. She looked a little like her uncles had when confronted by a crying baby for the first time, aware that this person was upset and not sure how to help them.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Astrid asked, hurrying towards them. She put a hand on each girl's shoulder, but Robbi was the one that burst into tears. She flew into Astrid's arms, sobbing helplessly, and Opal shifted on her feet. After a very long moment, she shrugged as if giving up on trying to make this situation graceful.

"Can Robbi stay with us tonight, Mom?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has officially dragged on for fifty chapters now. Wow. :| I'm not sure how it got this long, but thank you all for reading through it!


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...here's the thing, I'm going on hiatus again. Thank you all for your patience, and I hope to come back as soon as healthily possible. ':)

_Once upon a time, the city of Avonlea was under attack. The Seventh Ogre War had given the Marchlands a severe beating, and Avonlea was the last city standing when the Dark One arrived in the throne room, he wasn't very helpful at first because Lord Maurice sent him gold, which Rumpelstiltskin spins in his castle-_

"Oliver?" Mama poked her head into his room after knocking. She had been busy since they got home, er, upstairs. She was making lists and price sheets for the bake sale, and checking her calendar to reschedule her appointment with Archie, and calling around to get updated on pretty much everything, all while Oliver was sitting in here with his stupid report. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Dinner's going to be leftovers tonight, I think. Is there anything you'd like in particular?"

"Do we have any stew left?"

"We do. It'll be ready soon."

"Okay. Do you need me to set the table?"

"If you'd like. Is that your report you're working on?"

This was the one thing Oliver had been hoping Mama wouldn't ask about. He hated this report, and not for the reasons you might think. There was nothing he was really ashamed of, but...

Mama smiled. "Do you need any help, or would you like me to leave it be?"

Thank god.

"I just need a little break, I guess," Oliver pushed the offending paper away. Papa had left not long after Robbi showed up as a sobbing mess, but he'd asked if Oliver would like to come over and bake shortbread tomorrow. After school, of course.

Almost as if she were reading his mind, Mama said; "Henry's going to pick you up from school tomorrow, alright? I've got some setting up to do for the bake sale, and some rescheduling. If I put off seeing Archie too long, he'll probably hunt me down. Oh. And you know you can't eat too many cookies yourself, right?"

"Yes."

Mama smiled, and left his room. Oliver stood up to follow, but he ended up sitting down again and picking up his paper. Sent him gold, Papa spins it, real dumb...ah.

_...and the Dark One named his price as Lord Maurice's daughter. Lady Belle of Avonlea had been the one to send word to Rumpelstiltskin in the first place, despite her father's protests. Months before, Lord Maurice had pressed Belle into an engagement with Gaston the Hunter, who likely caused the Seventh Ogre War by maiming a defenseless baby Ogre that she had freed. By the same logic, Lord Maurice and Gaston shoved her behind them and refused to let her go with the Dark One. But Lady Belle was brave, and declared that no one would decide her fate but her. She struck a deal with Rumpelstiltskin there in the throne room, that she would go with him, for the saftey of her people._

Before Garrick's grandpa took him home, Oliver had time to brief him about his paper. At this point, starry-eyed, Garrick had asked, "What happened next?" and Oliver had to say:

"That's what I haven't gotten down yet."

And he meant it. The next sentence went, _'When they arrived at the Dark Castle,'_   and that was it. He had stalled mid-sentence, unsure of how to phrase what happened next for readers. Or listeners. Or anyone. It was just so freaking messy.

The fake Beauty and the Beast story was always told from Beauty's point of view, about how her beast was too ugly or dumb or rude to be loveable on the surface, but she got to know him and vice versa and they fell in love, and eventually Beauty came back to break his curse with a magical kiss. The real story, apparently, was that Papa was a sparkly lizard-man with leather pants and a bad attitude Mama had met head-on until she was in charge at the Dark Castle, up until she tried to break his curse without asking, then Papa threw her out because he was scared of losing his magic, and Mama had been kidnapped before she could actually get back to him to give him a piece of her mind over it.

_And Mama languished imprisoned in a tower for two years, and under the asylum for twenty-eight more, while my father thought she was dead and lived for revenge on Regina and the slim chance of reuniting with his firstborn. Then a ton of worse things happened including said firstborn dying to bring Papa back to life, subsequent torture, martial disputes, and Papa's attempt at taking his own life in January. The end for now._

That wasn't going to be a good ending, but the other options would bring up how they got married and had separated about three or four times before Oliver was even born, and how they couldn't coexist for longer than a month now without having a blow-up. He'd tried to let go of the image of Mama and Papa shouting at each other in the car over magic and injuries, but it wasn't something he could forget even if he let it go.

Ugh...how badly would he be punished for throwing this paper in the trash instead of finishing it?

* * *

Billy Shepperd had a note he was supposed to give a teacher or Mr. Hornsby, because he had a doctor's appointment tomorrow or something, Aerowyn didn't know for sure. What she _did_ know was that after he'd double-backed at the end of the day to turn in his note, he'd had one heck of a story:

"Robbi ran away!"

Half the kids in their class didn't believe Billy, even if Robbi had been missing since Mr. Whitney called attendance. The other half started asking how he knew that, or, if Oliver Gold, Garrick Booth, and Opal Beck had run off too. Which, Billy said, they did.

If it had just been Robbi, Aerowyn would have found it more likely that she'd been kidnapped. Or hit her head and was laying unconscious somewhere all day. Robin Mills was terrified of breaking rules, on one field trip she'd almost had a breakdown choosing between staying with the group like their first-grade teacher said, or staying with her partner because they were told to stick together, too.

(This partner had been Neal, it should be mentioned.)

Poor Robbi had bad luck at making friends. When she could overcome her shyness. Alyssa tried two or three times each school year to make friends with Robbi, but had never quite bridged the gap. When she found out that Alyssa's family were mice, Robbi had avoided her like they were the plague-carrying kind, which raised the question of whether it was...racist? Species-ist? Whether it was rude, or if Robbi was that afraid of talking to people. That. Yes.

It was a mystery how Garrick bridged the gap to reach Robbi, but he had, in the past few weeks since their field trip to the mines, it really looked like Robbi was coming in to her own. With nice kids, too, not Neal Nolan and his bully friends. Oliver was always tied with Aerowyn for smartest kid in class, Garrick was, similar to Alyssa, so Aerowyn was predisposed to like him. Opal had a rebellious streak that was fun to watch, and she never really meant any harm...and since she and Robbi seemed to be burying the hatchet, they all seemed to be helping Robbi feel more comfortable out in public.

So why had they all ended up running away today?

Alyssa and Aerowyn tossed theories back and forth on their way home from school. Living in houses side-by-side, and being born three months apart, had meant that they were always meant to be best friends. Alyssa waved to her older sister as they headed to Aerowyn's house, since it was quieter than the Stilton home, which hosted two parents, two teenagers, a dog, and a 13-year-old nephew that had been orphaned during one of the disasters in Storybrooke and brought up there. Alyssa's house was crowded, friendly, noisy, and if she wanted privacy, she had to come visit Aerowyn.

Their parents never had a problem with this arrangement. Mom sometimes even asked if Alyssa would like to stay for supper. Probably not tonight, since Alyssa was still working out the details on her family tree. She'd come up with the minimum word requirement for her family history paper, but was having some trouble with all her cousins. Mice had very large families.

And of course, they had this Robbi Mills mystery to uncover.

"I hope they're okay," Alyssa fretted. "What do you think happened? Was it more magic stuff?"

The school rumor mill wasn't quite done with the story of how Neal had broken his arm. Some kids seemed to think it was a deliberate attack, others thought Neal had it coming. Aeronwy was in the second camp. She firmly believed Neal had attacked or provoked Oliver, definitely with Tommy Herman backing him. In the end, that part didn't so much matter as the concern that it might happen again.

"I'm not sure...Robbi's never done anything magic before."

"Well neither did Oliver. I heard that they've been taking magic lessons from Mayor Mills, to keep accidents from happening. D'you think it's anything like Hogwarts?"

Alyssa's older sister occassionally babysat them. And she was a Potterhead, so, she'd read from the books when they were little, and with their parents consent, had started letting them watch the movies too. Aeronwy liked to think she was less fascinated than her friend...but that would be a lie. She'd found a blue-and-white scarf to wear last week and liked wearing it to school, pretending she was a Ravenclaw.

"I dunno...hey, what house do you think they'd be in? I bet Oliver would make Ravenclaw, or maybe Slytherin."

"He can't be a Slytherin, he's not mean enough."

"Slytherin isn't _mean_ , it's cunning and ambition. Plus, Mr. Gold is definitely a Slytherin, and Slytherin house takes the alumni's half-blood kids, like Snape."

Alyssa hummed thoughtfully. "Then I'd say...I dunno, Oliver's a tough one. What about Robbi? I'll bet she's a Hufflepuff, or maybe a Gryffindor if she builds up her self-confidence some more."

Aeronwy wasn't sure about that. They really didn't know Robbi well enough to guess. It was obvious that Garrick was a Hufflepuff, and Opal was so obviously Gryffindor you may as well paint her red and gold right now, but they really didn't know those four kids personally. Alyssa was determined to change that, though. She'd taken up her knitting again, more seriously, and had suggested asking them if they would like to borrow one of their Harry Potter books when they finished the Percy Jackson series.

Alyssa was a Hufflepuff, too.

"Maybe...we'll see tomorrow, I guess. At least if they're back in school, otherwise we'll probably see them at the Heritage Day Festival, right?"

"Yeah! I hear Opal knows the fastest way out of that maze they have, because her uncles help set it up. Maybe if we go together, we won't get lost this time!"

"That was _one_ time."

"You're only saying that because the 'second' time," Alyssa bounced her fingers in air quotes, rolling her dark eyes, "was when you got us lost and in trouble by trying to climb over a wall."

"Well we weren't lost that time, just in trouble! It's different!"

* * *

August had been doing very well at keeping honest and true after the Author debacle. And of his own volition he promised to support Tink when she got pregnant, (that part sometimes made Marco uncomfortable, but his boy was technically a grown man, nothing to be done about that,) and to take care of the baby.

It wasn't that he _wasn't_ truthful about it, it was just that...well...August was out of his depth. He hadn't planned on having children, he and Tink weren't even very close, and he'd never really been around a baby before. Marco had tried to help him out, but maybe that did more harm than good as he found himself being called on to mind Garrick for "just a minute" more and more.

Tink didn't have Marco's patience. Or relationship with August. She got angry with him when he made mistakes, and then they would fight, and August had confessed once he was so sure he was going to screw up with Garrick that he probably wasn't trying as hard as he should be.

Then he left.

But now he was back. Through letters and the internet, August had tried to reach out every now and then. Garrick treated his father the way a child treated a friendly adult they knew in an impersonal manner. Tink was frostily polite. Marco just stayed...neutral. He loved his son. But he loved Garrick too,-even loved Tink, she'd practically become his daughter in the past nine years,-and that made him feel like he was caught in the middle now.

August was back in town, and seemed to want to make a connection with Garrick. That was a good sign, Marco was willing to give him the chance. But...should he be here for a selfish reason, or end up hurting _il germoglio_ or his mother in any way...then...then that might be the one thing Marco couldn't forgive.

Archie was so busy balancing appointments at the moment that Marco hadn't asked for his advice. He had invited Archie to dinner tonight, (they always had lunch once a week, usually dinner at one of their houses too,) but recieved word that he'd have to cancel. Apparently he was doing some emergency juggling to fit in Robbi and Regina Mills, which Garrick explained readily enough:

"Y'know how Robin Hood died when she was a baby?" he started while setting the table, she being Robbi. "Well she says her mom had something to do with it but Regina won't say so, and the Merry Men left town with Roland 'cause they knew Zelena was bad and that if they tried to take Robbi they'd all get killed." This part was spoken with Garrick's trademark openness, but then he paused and frowned, tapping the fork he should be setting down against the tablecloth. "Robbi's upset with her aunt for leaving her with Zelena after that. Because of how they treat Mr. Gold and Oliver, but nobody said anything about her and Zelena, and other...stuff. Did you know about it Grandpa?"

"I...did." Marco answered slowly. "But...while it seems most of the town didn't care...I think most of us were the same as the Merry Men. We knew better, but didn't have the power to help her. Mayor Mills is a capable leader, so are the Charmings actually, but they have one fatal flaw."

"They're a bloody bunch of hypocrites." Tink grumbled, putting down her glass of iced tea at her place with more force than necessary.

"Tinker Be-"

"Well they are! They give Belle so much shit when she stands by Gold, they questioned Astrid and Leroy when they decided to be together, and I like Regina a lot but she should have known better than to leave that poor little girl alone with Zelena. Being one of the good guys doesn't mean you abandon all logic for feelings! That witch is as cruel and manipulative a monster as Cora ever was, and because she put on a sorry face, the town leadership decided she had changed her ways before Robin was even cold in the grave!"

Marco sighed. The "town leadership" was usually a bone of contention with Tink. Most people assumed she had a problem with authority. But the truth was, Tink disliked totalitarian authority. She didn't like the unfortunate habit Snow and David had acquired of making blanket decisions for town, no matter public opinion.

They made the right choice in accepting Regina after all she'd done, true. But they made the wrong choice in accepting Zelena when she was still...a menace. While Regina was the best of the town heroes at respecting a democratic system, (in the past decade at least,) she fell on old monarchy habits herself sometimes. Particularly on the matter of her sister, it would seem.

"So...it is true?" Garrick asked. "They didn't care about Robbi?"

Tink made a face. "Er, no, now I didn't say that. What I mean is...is that...well, it's like this. See, Regina used to be a real piece of work herself, before she became a mum. A _proper_ mum, that is."

"What's the difference?"

Marco patted Garrick's head. His grandson was getting tall. "The love a parent has for their children is a powerful thing. But not always a good thing. It took a long time for Regina to truly learn to love her boy, she used to have a selfish love that destroyed half the things Henry loved so she could keep him to herself. With time, and change, her heart became open and true. I imagine she thought that with her help, having little Robbi would change Zelena's heart, too."

"So...Zelena doesn't love Robbi right. She's still selfish. But why didn't Regina know better if it was the same thing that happened to her?"

Tink made a face that was a bit less angry, and more sympathetic.

"Regina is...she was very lonely, long before Henry ever came along. There's nothing she'd like better than to have a sister. It's just a bloody shame that her sister is a psychopathic rap-Real piece of work." Tink corrected herself. "Having the Queen of Hearts for a mother sort of skewed what having a family means to Regina, and the Charmings are so naive that they can't always tell the difference between genuine change and saying all the right words."

Garrick considered that, for a moment. "So it's not that Regina meant to do something terrible...she just kinda screwed up? A lot?"

That was the root of the problem, at the end of the day. One mistake had brought them to this point, ten years later. It was both easy and difficult to understand, and Marco didn't envy poor Archie for having to untangle it as a therapist.

* * *

Robbi had ended up on the living room couch. Miss Astrid had said something about an air mattress they could put in Opal's room, but Robbi hadn't wanted to be in the way. The couch was fine. Her hair would be a nightmare come morning, she hadn't braided it before bed. (Couch?) But Robbi was terrified she'd start crying if Miss Astrid helped her, because she was used to Aunt Regina doing that, and Opal's mother was so incredibly nice she might think she'd upset Robbi. She hadn't, of course, and the many reasons Robbi was upset were keeping her awake here. Not just because Diana, her stuffed fox, wasn't with her.

 _Why_ did Aunt Regina think it was okay? If she, if everyone, knew the terrible things M-Zelena, had done before and after Robbi was born, then how could they leave a baby with her? Was it because she was Zelena's blood? Did they think she wasn't worth the effort of raising themselves, of finding a different home for?

There was a trilling noise from the floor, and Robbi looked down to see Sam sitting there, looking up with large green-gold eyes. The cat swished her tail, like she was wondering why the human wasn't sleeping in a bedroom with the others.

"Um. Hi."

"H'lo."

Robbi blinked. Maybe she had fallen asleep. She leaned over the edge of the sofa, watching Sam carefully. "Did you say something?"

"Uh-huh."

Turns out, Sam was not a magical talking cat, Robbi realized sheepishly. She looked up a bit and saw one of the twins standing just off to the side, wearing blue pajamas with pink-and-purple stars on them. That was Joseph, then. Peter was wearing the pajamas with Mickey Mouse on them. At least that's what Robbi thought, no, wait, yes. She could just make out the little shock of white at the boy's hairline. Joseph.

Robbi rubbed her eyes, sitting up on the sofa. "Uh, hi, what are you doing up?"

"'M thirsty."

"And?"

"And I wanna drink of water. D'you want one?"

"Uh...okay." Robbi rose to her feet, carefully stepping around the cat. It was made difficult because Sam got up, too, and insisted on walking exactly where Robbi was trying to step around her. "Wait, can you reach the faucet?"

"If I get a chair."

Joseph did just that, the chair making squeaky sounds in spots on the linoleum. He climbed up in the seat, sitting on his knees so he could reach the faucet, and then looked at Robbi.

"Why're you sleeping on the couch?"

"Uh...it's a long story..." Robbi tugged on a stray wisp of hair that had escaped her braid. "See, um, my aunt...I'm kind of...it's like this, see, I...um..."

"Why didn't you make a pillow fort in Opal's room?"

Joseph had these big, innocent blue eyes in a round little face. And Robbi was so glad he was four, and he was only concerned about was why she hadn't slept in a pillow fort in Opal's room.

"Um...I dunno, I've never made a pillow fort before. It'd probably just fall on me in my sleep." Robbi shrugged, turning to look for the glasses. Those were kept in...which cabinet again? Ah. That one there.

Opal whispered earlier in the night that because her mother tended to be clumsy, they picked up a lot of glasses and cups from the second-hand store in town. (Which wasn't to be confused with Mr. Gold's pawnshop, _ever_.) Very few glasses looked alike. They had short fat glasses, they had ones with ripply patterns, they had colored glasses, some that looked like mugs, one that looked like a goblet, and they had one with little pink flamingos on them that Robbi picked up.

Mum had enchanted a plastic cup for Robbi's bedside when she was Joseph's age, one that would fill up when she needed it. But apparently he was a resourceful child. He was already filling up a glass at the sink, then twisted around to sit in the chair and sip at, back to swinging his feet.

Robbi set her glass down and hopped up on the edge of the counter so she had somewhere to sit. Sam had curled up under Joseph's chair, and for awhile the only sounds were her purring and the fridge humming.

"How come you're wearing Opal's clothes?" Joseph asked.

Robbi looked down at herself. Opal was shorter, but wider, so even though the sweatshirt rose whenever Robbi lifted her arms, it fit okay otherwise. It was more comfortable than sleeping in her school uniform, at least. "Um...I didn't bring mine."

"It's a funny sleepover you're having."

"Well...it's not really a sleepover. I mean, I'm sleeping over, but it's not a sleepover. Not really."

"Why?"

"Because...um...well...today I learned that my mother was a horrible person, and that my dad died, and no one cared what happened to me after that."

Joseph blinked. "Why?"

"Because...because...I guess I'm not important to anyone."

"Why?"

"Because...because...I don't know why."

"Oh."

It was quiet again. Robbi rubbed her thumb over one of the flamingos painted on her glass. Houses were always quiet and creaky at night, somehow she'd forgotten that at Aunt Regina's. She wasn't sure, yet, how she was supposed to go back there. Obviously she couldn't stay here forever. They didn't have enough beds, and she wasn't sure if Aunt Regina would let this family take her in. When Henry left the homes of his mothers, he'd moved in with his grandfather after all. Robbi didn't really have any other family in town that would take her in, unless she was overlooking someone.

"What's it like to have a big family? I mean, to really have one, not just live with people?" Robbi asked, not really expecting an answer from a toddler. "The Nolans are...I mean they're nice enough, but I don't think they really care, you know? Mostly I think they just invited me over so Neal had someone to play with, and because Aunt Regina wanted me there. Now Neal's a big jerk and I'm not sure if Aunt Regina ever really wanted me in the first place, and it just...I feel like a fish out of water."

Joseph shifted, crossing his legs in his chair.

"Daddy takes us fishing on his boat. It's not real big but everybody fits. Sometimes we just sit there all day with no fishes, but it's still nice. I saw a mermaid once."

"Did you?" Robbi wasn't sure if Joseph actually saw a mermaid or not. But it was a possibility in Storybrooke, at least.

"Uh-huh. I think it was a boy, 'cause he didn't have a pretty tail or hair like The Little Mermaid, but they were gone really fast so I dunno."

"Maybe it was just a fish?"

"It was a mermaid," Joseph said, firmly convinced. "Peter saw it too."

Robbi opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. Joseph was four. If he thought he'd seen a mermaid, how could she convince him he hadn't? There was really no harm in letting him think that...

Maybe she should have talked more to Archie instead of running away. Maybe there was a good reason, after all, that Aunt Regina had...well she'd never really lied, but she'd left out stuff. Lying by omission, that's the term. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't confessed that Mum was so horrid and she'd killed Daddy, for the same reason Robbi couldn't bring herself to tell Joseph they didn't see a mermaid.

Or maybe she didn't give a damn about Robbi and hadn't really cared what happened to her.

Astrid had said that Aunt Regina or Miss Belle, or even Archie, would call in the morning and they'd talk about what they'd do next. The little blinking clock on the microwave said it was 12:13, and Robbi thought it might be wise if she at least tried to get some sleep before then. She drained her glass and reached over to set it in the sink.

"I got it." Joseph said. He took her glass and set it aside, then started pouring out the remaining water in his glass.

Robbi figured he'd done this enough times that he'd know what to do with empty water glasses, so she busied herself with shooing Sam out from under the chair. The linoleum was freezing on her bare feet, it was no place for an expectant mother to be. She was scared of picking Sam up, but luckily the cat obediently trotted back into the carpeted living room with very little fuss.

Joseph hopped down and followed her, abandoning the chair at the sink. Robbi moved to put it back, but wrinkled her nose at the funny smell hovering over the sink. Maybe it was something coming from the drain, but Robbi didn't think it was that important. The bathroom she'd taken a shower in early this evening was only half-painted because they hadn't gotten around to finishing it lately, and there was a splotchy mark on the ceiling from an old leak that hadn't been painted over either. A funny-smelling sink was really not the oddest thing in the world.

She just dragged the chair back into place and returned to the couch. Joseph must have gone back to bed, because he wasn't there anymore. Sam, on the other hand, had hopped up on the coffee table and curled up like a loaf of cat.

Robbi tried to settle back on the sofa, but she hadn't been there long when Sam leapt from the table to the couch and tucked into Robbi's side over the blanket. Well...she wasn't trying to chew on her toes or anything...so that was fine.

When she started to purr, though, Robbi finally found herself able to sleep because she wasn't alone...

 

 

[Link to some nifty moodboards](http://of-princes-and-savages.tumblr.com/tagged/moodboard%3A-The-Unresolved)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^  
> This link here connects to my Tumblr. As of now, I've got Oliver, Garrick, Opal, and Robbi done up, I'm planning on posting Belle/Rumple next, and I've got a couple more stashed away for a rainy day like this. I'll see you all when I see you again, but again, thank you for your patience and concern at this time! <3


	52. Chapter 52

Opal supposed she was lucky not to be grounded until high school graduation. Her father had threatened to put a ring of razor wire around the playground fence to keep them from climbing out again, (which she took half seriously,) and Mom had wrote down a list of what did and did not constitute as an emergency worth breaking out of school over. She'd ask Oliver to make a copy and have his dad check it for loopholes.

Even though she didn't plan on testing the boundaries of her parents' patience, she thought it might cheer Mr. Gold up a bit. He always seemed like he could use some cheering.

Speaking of cheering, Robbi could use some herself. She was going to some kind of emergency family therapy session with Archie and her aunt, rather than go to school today. She also didn't have to finish her family history paper, or the family tree. She was sitting curled up on the sofa with Sam, who'd unceremoniously decided Robbi was going to be a personal sofa by draping over her lap. Opal had never seen anyone pet a cat and look so depressed.

She dropped on the other end of the sofa from Robbi, deciding to try distracting her with a question that genuinely bothered her sometimes: "You ever think about how you're like cousins with Mrs. Nolan?"

"What?"

"She's Regina's step-daughter, right? So that's as good as a daughter, so she's your cousin, or technically, a step-cousin. And Henry's a cousin too, then, Regina adopted him...so...?" Opal wrinkled her nose, rethinking this conversation entirely. "So what does-Never mind, I don't wanna think about that anymore, too weird. How about you ask me a family question now?"

"No, no, wait a minute," Robbi's eyebrows pressed together. "You're right. I am technically related to all of them."

If anything, this made her draw even further into herself, and that wasn't what Opal was going for at all. Crap. If she were honest though, thinking about the fact that, through Regina, Robbi had that all-important family tie to the Charmings that put people above the law and she _still_ got beaten with the short end of a stick made Opal angry. They let this creepy-ass woman parade around town for nearly ten years, all trying not to cross her, while at the same time they took pot-shots at Gold, even though he wasn't doing a damn thing anymore.

Grr.

"Well...if you're related to Henry," Opal went to another route. "That means you're family of some kind with Oliver, too. Doesn't it?"

"Does it?" Robbi blinked.

"Yeah, oh hey, yeah! Oliver is Henry's uncle, so you're cousins with him." There was some rule to the whole first, second, or third cousin thing that Opal wasn't entirely familiar with, but it had something to do with a generational gap. Like your mom's cousin was still your cousin. "I guess that means your some kind of kin to Mr. Gold too...that's it, I can never marry anybody in town without getting a thorough background check on them."

Robbi looked around the living room. It was her second visit, and she still had that I'm-in-uncharted-territory look about her. She looked at the picture hanging up on the wall taken on Dad's boat. Uncle Tiny was afraid of sinking in the water, he couldn't swim a stroke, so he had taken the picture from the dock of everybody piled on the boat. It was a little bit before Peter and Joseph were born, Mom's tummy was round and Opal was the only kid in the picture, hoisted up on Uncle Dopey's shoulders.

Finally Robbi waved at that picture in particular with a helpess air. "How do you do that? This? I mean, how does a family like this work?"

"Like...how?"

Robbi looked down to her lap, red-faced. "I-I mean, I mean, how do you...how do you be happy? If I threw toast, my mother would scold me and take away toast. And here, one brother tosses a piece of toast to the other, drops it, and your parents just got it away from the cat and went about dinner like that's normal!"

Okay. Now Opal was lost. "Uh...well...I don't know about toast, but...my parents just went with it because...that _is_ kinda normal around here. My brothers are kind of a handful."

Robbi narrowed her eyes. "You keep saying your brothers are trouble...how come I've never seen them get in trouble? Did your parents even punish you for running off yesterday?"

(Opal hadn't shown Robbi her Absentee Terms and Conditions.)

"Well...yeah. They do get mad when I do stupid stuff. When you and I used to fight, do you know how much trouble I got in? My mom told me a hundred times that I had to control my temper, and my dad got so frustrated he refused to talk to me until Mom got home or he'd probably start yelling. And Peter and Joseph are twice the trouble I was at their age. They've wandered off, dug up the flower beds, climbed anything with handholds, spilled ever substance in a jug and a box, killed a potted plant by watering it with orange juice, once they stuck two keys in a socket and-"

"But you're still so happy together!" Robbi cut in. "I mean...how do you do that? How do you...how do you-" her hands fluttered around helplessly and Opal decided to wait, and see where this was going. It took nearly a minute for Robbi to throw her hands up in surrender.

"How do you have a fight when you live together, and then go back to being happy? How do you...how do you work things out?"

"Uh...I dunno. We just do. Um..." Opal scratched her head, looking around for any inspiration. Nope. None. Just Sam lazily blinking at her. "Maybe you should ask Archie about it, I'm not so good at explaining how my family works, I just know it... _works_ , for me.

Robbi slumped against the back of the sofa. "I guess..."

She drew her legs up, hugging her knees and letting her chin rest on top. Her hair was a mess, she hadn't braided it and said that was why it was so bushy and frizzy this morning. Her aunt sent a set of PJs and a change of clothes,-and Robbi's fox Diana,-with Dad when he came home, but she was still wearing the pajamas.

"You know what's the funniest thing about all this?" Robbi asked, sighing. "I'm mad and sad and hurt that Aunt Regina never told me what Mum did, but when it comes to M-To Zelena, herself, I mean. I feel...nothing."

"Nothing? Like...nothing at all, or just kind of numb?"

"Maybe both? I-I'm not sure, but I'm not...I'm not even that upset with her. Maybe it's because I've kind of always felt like...like she just put up with me because I was her daughter. Because she had to. But at the same, I don't think she'd let Daddy near me if he were alive."

"Yeah, she'd probably toast him with a fireball." Opal blurted. Oh. Crap. "Uh...sorry."

To her surprise, after a beat, Robbi giggled the tiniest bit. "You're wrong anyway. She'd turn him into a flying monkey."

"Are you...is that a joke?"

"Sort of...I know she sent a flying monkey to spy on Emma during the Missing Year. He was her boyfriend. Emma's, I mean."

Opal snorted, not sure whether she should laugh at this new revelation or not. One thing was certain though: This conglomerated Mills-Charming-Jones-Gold-and-Hood family was freaking ridiculous, all of them.

* * *

Leroy was going to take Opal to school this morning, and start rounding up the tables for Belle's bake sale. Astrid was going to stay at home until about noon, with the twins and Robbi, until someone came to take her to a therapy session. Neither of them was sure what would happen next, but he wondered if they should make arrangements for Robbi to stay on longer.

She was so quiet Leroy almost forgot she was in the house, but if she needed a place to stay, they could certainly make room for her. They had the air mattress.

Leroy headed downstairs to the kitchen to pack his lunchbox, and see how Opal was coming along. Astrid had a bad habit of leaving her shoes wherever she kicked them off, which had passed down to Opal, and some mornings they got a little held up by _someone_ not being able to find a shoe. Fortunately today, his daughter was sitting on the couch with both on her feet, and her backpack beside them on the floor.

Opal was there beside Robbi, scribbling in a notebook. She was holding it sideways, the long way, and Robbi looked at whatever she was doing with interest. "So you don't have grandparents at all?"

Some kind of family tree thing, then. Last Leroy heard, Robbi had been exempt from that school project, but maybe Opal was just showing her something.

"Nope. Dwarves hatch strictly from eggs, and I think Dad said the eggs are found underground, not laid like chicken eggs. So I've got seven blood uncles, six living, and they adopted Uncle Tiny as a brother here in Storybrooke after the first curse broke. They planted a magic bean field together,-and Dad says work is work,-so they bonded over that. I won't have any cousins unless one of them has kids, or unless Uncle Sleepy adopt I guess. Oh, and if he and Dylan ever get married, then I'll have eight living uncles."

"Wow." Robbi's blue eyes widened. "You make the Charming family look really small."

"I think it's because of the eight-brothers thing that it looks so big, it's not as generational as they are."

"Huh...and do you have any fairy aunts?"

"I dunno. I'm not sure how they're born exactly, they're even more confusing than hatching from an egg and still having a belly button. Fairies _can_ have babies though, but Dad said dwarves didn't have kids in the old world."

"Why?"

"It's probably 'cause there aren't any girl dwarves around, and even if there were, they're just supposed to dig, dig, dig in the mines. Like the song says."

"What song is that?"

Opal gave Robbi a speculative glance. "You know...like in Snow White? Wait. Have you ever watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves? The Disney movie?"

"No..."

"Well I'll have to remember to show you the clip online next time we're near a computer. You can hear Dad whistle it sometimes, but he swears it's a dwarven work song-" which it _was_ , they'd picked it up in the mines from other dwarves, no idea how it ended up in a children's movie, "-not the work of the mouse."

"What mouse?"

"Y'know, Mickey Mouse? He's the Disney brand's mascot-You know what," Opal pointed over to the box they kept DVDs in. "You look in there, and there's a bunch of movies in there. You make a list of what you want to watch and we can work something out, because if we're going to be friends, you'll have to watch at least one movie in there or you'll never know what we're talking about. Believe me, Oliver especially can be a huge nerd once you get to know him."

Leroy glanced up at the wall clock. He had enough time to make his sandwich, so he left the girls in the living room. When he finished that, he came back, and Opal looked up to the clock and jumped off the sofa.

"Are we going now?"

"Yep. Grab your bag. You got your lunch?"

"Yup! What have you got?"

"I'm not trading with you, say goodbye to your mom." Leroy swatted her in the direction of the stairs, pausing awkwardly to look at Robbi. "Uh...good luck. With today."

"Um..." Robbi looked downwards. "Thanks. Have a nice day."

Leroy couldn't quite remember if he'd been awkward with Oliver or Garrick when they started coming around. But then, Garrick was like dealing with a smaller, younger version of Happy most of the time, and Oliver was there since before Opal was born. Robbi was new. And weird. But Opal seemed to be getting along with her, so he supposed he'd have to get used to her weirdness sooner or later.

Opal bounded back down the stairs with her backpack slung over her shoulder, and out the door they went. "Bye Robbi, don't pick the Clone Wars please that movie sucks!"

"Uh, sure...bye?"

One walk to school later, and Leroy saw Opal off to school right on time. She went in with Oliver, who was dropped off by his mother, so Leroy walked back to the library with Belle.

Most of the details for the bake sale were hashed out: Granny was taking the day off to bake her contributions with as much help as little Todd Lucas could give her, Astrid would come by later this afternoon to help Belle out, the other contributions would show up by tomorrow, and Oliver would go home with Gold this afternoon to help him bake whatever he was making. It seemed like a good idea for the kid to spend some non-emergency time with his dad.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been able to sleep. He'd gotten a fitful night's sleep yesterday, but he hadn't been able to get much of anything last night. Except for a headache, and the unpleasant sensation of the walls closing in around him if he sat in the bed for too long. He hadn't felt that for a while...

Hadn't missed it either.

He had a few recurring nightmares, inevitable at his age, seeing the things he'd seen, really: Bae falling through the portal, a fictional nightmare of Belle leaping from a tower to a sickening thump on the stones below, Bae dying, being penned up in a cage at Zelena's hands, so on and so forth. He was sincerely hoping Captain Hook breaking in to an otherwise lovely dream with a gun wouldn't become one of them, because it was one of the most upsetting he'd had in years. Just...the timing. The possibility.

Statistically, that one _could_ happen, and that was horrifying.

Besides his irrational/semi-rational fears, this year he had to walk with a cane. He'd only slow Oliver down, and he didn't want the boy worrying about him. Best that he go have a good time with his friends. Best that Belle focus on her bake sale and having a good time afterwards, too. Rumpelstiltskin would only get in the way, and if he wasn't in the way, he would probably be so nervous and twitchy he'd not enjoy a moment of it himself.

It wasn't one of those "just get out there and you'll enjoy it" situations either, even before this nightmare happened, Rumpelstiltskin knew he just wouldn't. He'd sit and watch a movie Henry suggested to him on that Netflick thing, or knit, or do the laundry instead, and it would be fine. Maybe he'd go for a walk around the block.

Trying to focus on the upbeat things, Rumpelstiltskin double-checked he had everything he needed to start backing this afternoon. Henry would bring Oliver by after school, and Belle would pick him up in the evening for dinner. She'd asked if Rumpelstiltskin would like to join them, and he hadn't quite given her an answer yet...why? He wasn't sure, he just couldn't make up his mind.

He never could, really. Their first Storybrooke date with the hamburgers had been her idea. Belle was the brave one, even when she was terrified. When Rumpelstiltskin was terrified, he did stupid things like push loved ones away, or if that failed, retreat bodily and emotionally from them. Henry said he was doing better about that, but that had been before the incident in January...

Positive. Look at the _positive_ , damn it.

Not a lot went into this shortbread recipe. Mostly butter and flour, and some sugar. A pinch of vanilla extract because it always made sweets better, maybe. And the melted chocolate. It was all there, as were the baking sheets, wire cooling racks, parchment paper...it did not take long to do inventory, even if he repeated the task.

Henry walked to work today, the weather being somewhat nicer than the week had been so far, not as bitterly cold and windy. Spring wouldn't arrive properly until April, and Rumpelstiltskin personally couldn't wait for everything to defrost so he could walk without fear of falling, or little ruffians trying to kill him with snowballs. It was a mildly pleasant winter day outside, and since there was nothing to do inside, Rumpelstiltskin decided to do something spontaneous.

After calling Henry first, though, and asking if he'd like him to bring lunch.

His grandson sounded very surprised, but welcomed him all the same with a request for those puffy orange Cheetos abominations. Sandwiches, the abominations, and a few other sundries went into a reusable grocery bag placed on the passenger seat of the Cadillac, and by noon, Rumpelstiltskin was seated in the back of his shop across from Henry, relieved that his collection of tea things and his electric kettle were still right where he left them. Henry wasn't much for tea unless it was outrageously sweet, and cold.

That tea-loving gene seemed to have been repressed by the hot cocoa gene Snow passed on to all of her brood.

Henry confessed to being very, very concerned about Regina and her niece while they ate, and Rumpelstiltskin was mildly relieved he wasn't the only one with problems, as poor as that was phrased. He listened to Henry explain how he'd talked to Regina last night, how they had arranged an "emergency" session with Archie for this afternoon, how Robbi was staying with Opal's family until further notice.

"I mean, I really get where Robbi's coming from, I practically avoided Mom's house for a year after the curse broke. I mean...wait, how long was it between the curse breaking and Pan?"

"Not long enough."

"True. But, see, this time I don't think Mom did anything as bad as trying to gaslight me. She didn't try isolating Robbi and running off anyone who had a relationship with her, that's all Zelena. Mom is the Charmings here, Zelena is the one that needs her wagon fixed, right?"

"You're not wrong," Rumpelstiltskin said slowly, considering his words carefully. "But I think you might be...projecting, just a bit."

"Projecting?"

"For one thing, stop looking at this from a family perspective." That was one thing Henry had gotten a double dose of, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Optimism was a great thing...but not if it was unfiltered. "The adult wasn't wrong to withhold age-inappropriate information from a child, but, they were wrong to leave the child in a dangerous situation as a result of witholding the truth. The child has trusted this adult implicitly, and while not knowing this secret does have an effect on their life, the reveal would still have less of an impact on them than it would on their perception of the adult. The child cannot trust the adult doesn't have more secrets, and they don't understand why the adult has lied, even if by omission. Therefore the child has difficultly trusting the adult hasn't lied to them in the past, at the same time the adult is struggling to confess the truth without risking more damage, resulting in half-truths. This causes more cracks in the foundation of an otherwise stable relationship, which can either be repaired or cause a total breakdown of relations."

Henry blinked in the long pause afterwards.

"Wow. Did you ask Archie's opinion on that or...like, wow. That's deep."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled humorlessly. "That's not a psychiatric lesson. That's experience. From _being_ that adult."

* * *

Robbi wasn't talking. She'd chosen a seat on the couch on the opposite end from Regina, her legs curled underneath her, her arms crossed, making her a tight, tense little ball that wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. Regina was sitting very straight, her hands folded on her lap and fidgeting ever-so-slightly, seemingly drawing on queenly posture lessons to mask any emotion. Her eyes were blank when she made what Archie liked to call "denial of my issues" eye contact with him, but whenever she looked away, or at Robbi, her brown eyes were full of guilt.

It was too soon for a joint session. He should have anticipated that, given Robbi's trouble of opening up. Archie made a note to schedule a few sessions privately with Regina, and to cover a few old topics with Robbi again. Depending on how negatively Robbi was reacting to all of this news, they may have to schedule weekly sessions instead of bi-weekly ones again, too...

At least they could cross off visits to Zelena. That would mean her mother wasn't picking apart Robbi's progress and setting her back two steps for every one the girl took anymore. Small blessings.

Attempting to give Robbi some space, Archie tried once more to address Regina. She seemed to be under the impression they were there for the withdrawn little girl on the other end of the sofa, but he was trying to get the mayor to understand she needed to be here, too. "Ah, Regina, exactly how far are you willing to go to repair the damage done here?"

"As far as it takes." Regina's determination was always obvious, but sometimes that made her a difficult patient. Especially when she didn't get results quick enough.

"Then I think the first step would be, um, a temporary separation. It might be easier to talk things over if you aren't living toge-"

Robbi turned very pale. "Do I have to go back to the farmhouse?"

"Never again," Regina swore, just as Archie gently said; "No." The mayor looked away just as quickly, apparently backing down to let him explain his idea.

"For one thing, that's no place to live alone," he explained. "And for another, it's too far out of town. The idea behing a separation isn't to... _separate_ , so much as give the two of you some time to yourselves. To think about what happened, and what you want next, and how to talk about it. Unless of course you'd like to stay with your aunt?"

Robbi squirmed. "I dunno..."

"Maybe...maybe if you think on that, for a little bit?" Regina suggested hesitantly. "I'm sure you could spend the night with your friend again. Maybe do your baking for the sale?"

"Oh...I forgot about that...um...c-can we do that? Just for a bit?"

"Absolutely," Archie beamed. Their time was almost up, but these last few minutes made the prognosis much brighter. "Now, I do have an exercise for the two of you, no matter what you decide on. I'd like for you to buy two journals, and spend a little bit of time each day writing in them about how you feel. They can be totally private, or you could talk about them with me, but the most important thing is to try and understand how you feel, so you can make yourself clear to the other. Any questions?"

"What if we have questions we want to talk to you about...privately?" Regina hesitated. Maybe she could sense he wanted to work with them individually for a bit. Or maybe she had some questions that weren't Robbi-friendly at this stage.

"We'll schedule separate sessions, like Robbi already has. You can talk to me, or my assistant-"

"The assistant," Regina requested quickly. She looked embarrassed by her haste and added: "You're too involved for me to talk to you seriously."

Robbi looked at her aunt kind of funny, but Archie understood the sentiment clearly. He had several patients that trusted him more the less they knew about him. And then there were some like Robbi that needed a semi-personal connection. There was no one-size-fits-all approach to this field.

"That's perfectly fine. We'll schedule an appointment sometime early next week. You can let me know about your living arrangements then. Would you like to stop by the house to pack some clothes and things like that, Robbi?"

"Oh...yeah, I should do that," Robbi looked down at her shoes sheepishly. They were the same she'd been wearing yesterday, even though it looked like Regina sent her the cream-colored sweater and dark jeans. Opal was shorter and stockier than Robbi, her clothes wouldn't likely fit.

Regina made mentions of letting Henry take her to the house, and an excuse that she had mayor business to take care of. It was obvious she didn't want to make Robbi uncomfortable by being in the house at the same time, but no one said anything other than to make an agreement to call Henry to come get Robbi directly.

After the Mills ladies left, there was a bit of time between appointments and it was noon, so Archie went down to Granny's Diner for a quick bite to eat.

Tink was there, sitting at the counter where August was standing, trying to talk to her about something. Archie didn't really have anywhere else he could go, plus, Ruby greeted him when he came in, so he went over and took a seat next to his fairy friend.

"Hey Archie," August smiled, "how's the therapist's life?"

"Confidential, but not bad."

"How's Robbi holding up?" Tink asked, riding right over that 'confidential' bit. Archie had a cordial relationship with Tink well before she'd had Garrick, but after that she and her son became as much family to him as Marco and...well the man that knocked her up. Storybrooke had some odd families if you looked to closely like this.

"Not...bad," he answered once he got back to the question. "She's going to gather a few things up from Regina's and spend the night at Astrid and Leroy's again, but I'm not sure what next."

"Wait, this is the same kid from Garrick's party, right?" August blinked. "The blonde girl, that's Robbi? She and Regina seemed really close, what am I missing?"

"A very, very busy afternoon, yesterday," Tink poked her french fry into a puddle of mustard and ketchup all swirled together. "How much do you remember about Robin Hood and Zelena?"

"That it was sick what she did, and she shouldn't have had custody of a gerbil."

"Correct. Only nobody in power bothered to get Robbi out of her mother's clutches until May of last year, and nobody in town could break it to her that she was... _ill-conceived_ , because she's a good child despite everything." Tink shrugged uncomfortably. "And smart. She put the math together yesterday and ran away from school."

August made a face. "Oh...wow."

"I'm scheduling separate sessions before we go back to working on joint therapy," Archie said, only a little surprised when Ruby dropped a chicken club sandwich and iced tea in front of him with a wink. He always ordered the same thing for lunch on Thursday, even without a curse dictating his choices. Ruby only forwent the charade of looking at a menu during the lunch rush.

Tink stole one of his fries, (regardless of the ones left on her plate,) and shook it at him disapprovingly. "The Mills, the Golds, Emma, those two terrors, your other patients; You're working too hard Archie, you need a rest."

"I agree with Tink." August said, but that made Tinkerbell roll her eyes and stab the fry in his direction.

"Agree with me now, sure, but you are not taking Garrick anywhere Friday."

"I said I wanted to take him to the Heritage thing. _You_ said you were working, and Papa has a booth with the other woodcarvers, so why can't _I_ take him?"

"Because Archie's taking him," Tink said, and that wasn't technically a lie, but for some reason Archie felt proverbial bus tires roll across his back. He did usually walk Garrick around, if Marco was involved with the woodcarvers, or if Garrick wasn't scampering off with Opal and Oliver. But... "And secondly, you didn't even talk about this with Garrick, you're asking me like you can borrow a car."

"Hey, don't act like I did something wrong here, I'm asking you so you don't get all snappy for not asking you!" August countered. It sounded like this argument had been going for some time before Archie walked in. "So what do you want, me to talk to the kid, or me to talk to you?"

"What I want is assurance you won't leave my son with the first person to come along when you get bored, alright? I don't want to agree to this and hear you left him with Marco later on-"

"Oh my god," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Really, that's what you're going with? That was nine years ago-"

"Now ask me how long you've been gone, and we'll see if you know how long that was-"

"Oh my god! Archie, tell me she's being unreasonable-"

"Don't you dare bring him into this, this is a fight between you and me!"

"You said fight, see? See? _That's_ unreasonable because I don't want to fight! What the hell do you want me to do, how about tell me that for a change?"

Archie cleared his throat. "Ah, if I may?"

He was ignored, however, by Tink spinning on her stool to glare at August, face to face. "Fine! How about a compromise? Walk with Garrick to the pawnshop, and you can talk about anything you please. If he says no, you let it drop."

"And if he says yes?"

"If he says yes, if he says no, either way I'll try to be more _reasonable_ in the future because at least you tried. Fair enough?"

August opened and shut his mouth, like he was expecting more of a quarrel. Archie had to admit the "take no prisoners" tone Tink was using was very combative, but at least she was honest. And at least August was trying to do...some kind of right thing. It was hard to say what the right thing would be in this situation, so trying was good enough. For now.

"Right. That's fair. Uh, why the pawnshop?"

Tink smiled frostily. "Oliver is his friend, and sometimes they like to hang out with his father. He's going to Mr. Gold's until later when Marco picks him up, you can walk them to the pawnshop."

"Right...right...well." August swallowed. Surely he'd heard Rumpelstiltskin wasn't the Dark One, but August had run afoul of him before the curse broke and things had not gone well. Archie wondered if Mr Gold would be upset or pleased that Tink was using him to keep August at bay with. Probably pleased. "I'll do that. When should I be at school?"

A few more details were ironed out in a civilized fashion, if not a chilly one, and August left soon after. Granny came by shaking her head, refilling Tink's glass. "Well I haven't seen that show in years. You alright?"

"I'll be fine..." Tink muttered, glaring at a water ring on the counter. "I just don't know what he wants. I mean, he won't ask for money or favors or anything like that, but why does he want to reconnect with his son after running out on him a decade ago? It's just _frustrating_."

Archie opened his mouth, but Tink gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"Don't you counsel me, cricket. My problems are mundane and can keep, you need to lighten your workload. You're having dinner with us tonight since you missed last night, and you're taking a break tomorrow to enjoy the festival."

And he dropped it, for the moment. No sense in provoking her into another argument, especially in this case when she was sort of right. It would be awfully nice to attend the festival tomorrow without worrying about half his patients causing a scene with the other half...hopefully. He warned the Golds that Neal Nolan would be taking appointments on Thursdays for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who started this fic before The Great Hiatus/Dry-Spell began may know I used to post every week. I'm thinking that's a little unrealistic in my life now, SO, I'm gonna *try* to get another update to you in two weeks, I'm still having some trouble connecting the next few plot points. There's A Thing coming up soon and I'm trying to prepare my characters for it, so if there's another hiatus, it's because I'm hard at work this time! Yay brain!


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I return on time, some things happen, and I finally get a chance to use a prop I've been trying for thirty chapters to work into the story. :3

Henry let Robbi stay around the pawnshop after they picked up her things. Opal's dad was hauling things in that van the dwarves shared, and he'd be by sooner or later to take her back to their house. Robbi was supposed to make her contribution to the bake sale there, though she wasn't sure how that would work out. She hadn't really made these blondies by herself before...but Robbi didn't want to bake with her aunt right now, so, she would try to make do.

Plus the pawnshop was a very distracting place to be.

She was a bit...preoccupied the other day when she was in here, and being dragged in after a zombie attack didn't really count. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with, well, _stuff_. Henry took her to the back and offered her a snack, but she wasn't hungry. And even if she were, she was afraid of spilling crumbs on something important.

She wasn't even sure what some of the things were in the front room, but in the back it was especially baffling because some were unfinished projects. Robbi wasn't sure who did all the work, but at the moment it was none other than Mr. Gold, seated at a workbench, with a magnifying glass in front of him so he could see the necklace he was working on.

Henry had to go tend to a customer, which left her alone with Mr. Gold. Oliver's father. The former Dark One. The fellow Mum once kept locked in their storm cellar, where they kept stuff like canned vegetables now.

(And Neal said he also used to date the Queen of Hearts, who was Robbi's grandmother...maybe she dodged multiple bullets on that family tree assignment.)

She startled when Mr. Gold suddenly looked at her. Or maybe he'd been staring at her, staring at him, and she hadn't noticed until now. He had dark spots under his eyes, and the same lamp that cast mysterious shadows across his face made his short, silver-white hair gleam with golden highlights. He had one of those smiles that pulled up on just one side of the mouth, making it look lopsided. "Forgive me, I was preoccupied when you arrived. How has your day been, Miss Mills?"

"Not...bad." Well, it hadn't been going as badly as yesterday, at least. "Um...how are you?"

"Not bad, myself. How's that magic exercise going?"

It hadn't, actually. Robbi wasn't sure she wanted anything to do with magic now, but she fished the vial of fairy dust out of her bags and tried to light it up. Her go-to good memory had been the first time she'd helped Aunt Regina make lasagna, but that wasn't working right now. For obvious reasons.

"I will admit, that's a bit of a fussy exercise," Mr. Gold hummed after a long moment, standing up from his chair and limping over to a cabinet. He wasn't wearing a jacket, and Robbi didn't think she'd ever seen him with that extra layer missing. He looked smaller without it. "Let me see where I put it..."

"Put what?"

"It's a silver dish. Enchanted of course, the reflective surface mirrors your thoughts and feelings. You put a bit of water in and-" he stopped suddenly, pulling out a chalice that looked old and expensive. "Why do I still have this?"

Mr. Gold stuffed it back in the cabinet anyway, and moved to a drawer instead. He didn't seem to find what he wanted in that one, and checked the one under it. Robbi carefully perched herself on an extra stool near the work bench, not sure if she should offer to help or what.

"Aha!"

After a quick stop at the sink, Mr. Gold came back with a shiny silver dish that he deposited on a clear space on his work bench in front of Robbi. He sat back down and picked up the tiny screwdriver again, pointing at the dish as he gave her instructions: "Put your fingertips in the water. and just think of...ah, try a perfect sky."

Obeying, Robbi dipped her fingers in, but she wasn't quite sure what a perfect sky would look like. The sky was sort of gray right now, not very perfect. In spring it always seemed kind of light blue, if you could see it through the rain clouds. Summer had a very nice, bright blue sky with lots of white clouds...Robbi blinked at the water in the dish.

It rippled slightly, a merry shade of blue spreading over the water with thick smears of white. It faded when she pulled her hand back, until the water was perfectly clear again, but Mr. Gold seemed to have noticed anyway. "Good, that's very good. Now, do you understand how it works?"

"I...thought of a cloudy sky?"

"And?"

"And it appeared?"

"Close. Very close, technically true even," Mr. Gold reached over and dipped the head of the screwdrive in the water. "Essentially, you thought of the essence of an ideal sky, and it appeared." He settled back on the stool, wiping the head of the screwdriver off on a rag. "At your level, it's almost like fingerpaints for the mind. The goal here is to empty your mind and just feel. Give it another go, think of anything. Or nothing. If you do something that looks particularly fetching in the dish, try associating that the next time you practice with the dust."

Robbi nodded, even though he had turned away by then, and looked down into the dish. Mr. Gold sure had a lot of tricks...maybe she should ask him to help her along until things were okay with her and her aunt? Hmm. The water had turned black with thick swirls of sparkling white zinging around, lighting up the dark pool. Was that what Robbi was thinking?

She touched the water's surface again and it suddenly went murky, a blur of orange with tiny gold freckles swimming around like glitter. Curious. Maybe the orange was curiosity? Hmm...well, it would be a fun experiment if nothing else.

* * *

Garrick didn't know why August Booth was back in Storybrooke. He visited for dinner, he was helping Grandpa out with the preparations the wood carvers needed for their Heritage Day booth, he talked some to Garrick, but...he still didn't know why his dad came back.

Mom seemed to waiting on an explanation too. The other shoe to fall. Garrick wasn't sure if footwear was involved or not, but he did know Dad asked some funny questions. He asked how long Oliver had magic, he asked if Garrick could do any tricks, he asked if there was anything odd going on in town right now. He asked some questions about Mr. Gold, too, until someone told him Mr. Gold wasn't the Dark One anymore.

"Why did you come back?" Garrick blurted out, after they'd left Oliver at the pawnshop and started walking to catch up with Grandpa for a ride home. "Now, I mean? Why now?"

Dad looked down at him like he didn't know what to say. "I...um...look, kid...I know you're not going to believe me," he grimaced, "and god knows your mom won't, either, but I didn't _mean_ to be gone for nine years. I left...well I didn't think I'd have a kid when I had you. Having kids is...it's huge. It's scary, it's new, it's a big responsibility and I wasn't ready for it no matter how hard I tried to convinced myself I was."

"Mom didn't do that." Garrick usually didn't want to say blunt things, but this time he felt like he had to. His mom was a fairy, fairies were not babies, but Mom raised him. She wasn't entirely alone, but she had done a lot on her own all the same. She never ran.

"That's why she's the good parent," Dad chuckled and grinned, but it was like he knew it wasn't funny. "I know I'm a screw-up of a dad. Hell, I'm more of a penpal than a dad, let's be honest, I bet I don't even know what allergies you have."

"Clams, mostly."

"Clams, huh? Alright. Clams. But the thing I need you to know, is that I never wanted it to be this way. I don't expect us to rebuild a relationship like Emma and Henry did, but I'd like to be...more of what you need? I guess? Yeah. I want to be someone you can depend on, not some far-off flake who sends presents that aren't you."

An image of Legos passed through Garrick's mind before he shoved it back. "Henry and Emma don't get along so well, now," he felt oblidged to point out. "I mean, she's not much of a mom to him, as far as I know. Maybe it'd be enough if you just...I dunno, visit more? Grandpa misses you..." Garrick almost added _"more than I do"_ but felt that would be a little too...much.

Dad made a face. "Yeah...yeah, I miss him too."

It was quiet for a little bit. People were busy on the sidewalks, clearing away the light snowfall from last night and prepping for Saturday. Sheriff Nolan was helping Mrs. Homer hang up a decoration on her store front, and Neal and Tommy were sulking around in the doorway looking like they didn't want to be there.

"So," Dad said after they passed them. "Um, I was talking with your mom earlier, about this Heritage Day thing? You want to maybe spend some time with your old man there? It's your choice, I mean, if you just want me to fail at knocking a few milk bottles over and then get lost, I'd be fine with that."

"That game is rigged, the bottles on the bottom are weighted," Garrick looked down at his feet, noting that his school shoes were getting kind of tight on them. It was almost a reminder that he wasn't getting younger, that his dad had wasted a lot of time whether he meant to or not. "But...I think the ring toss is on the level. I'm pretty good at that, last year I won a stuffed lobster. I'd like to play that if you still want to do something."

"Alright, ring toss it is," Dad smiled. "Can I talk you up to one game of ring toss and a corndog?"

"A corndog and an almond cream tart?"

So, Garrick would spend a little time with his father at Heritage Day tomorrow. It wouldn't be so bad, surely. His father didn't seem terrible just...not a very good dad. It wasn't right that he ran because he got scared and left them behind, but he had come back. Maybe that should count for something. At least a little bit. He could be a crappy dad and a decent person, maybe.

* * *

Oliver's report wasn't finished yet, but he chose to ignore that for as long as possible...which wasn't long enough. The last batch of shortbread was baking, the rest of the batches were cooling on wire racks, and Papa was starting to wash up the mixing bowls and things. Earlier he let Papa see that copy of the list Opal's parents made, outlining what were and were not appropriate situations to run out of school.

It made Papa laugh a little bit. He liked Opal, always had, but he did not seem to like August Booth very much.

Which reminded Oliver...he needed more material to work with. Stalling for time had resulted in a very involved family tree diagram, but his report? No. Both Opal and Garrick were done, and all Oliver had to do was fill up two pages...and he couldn't. He felt like he was missing something. So, he climbed up to sit on a clean patch of counter, watching his father dry off a spatula.

"Can I ask you something, Papa?"

"Always, m'boy."

"Where does you and Mama's story...well...I know how it starts, but where does it end?"

Papa set the bowl he'd been drying down carefully. "Well...I don't know. I suppose a morbid perspective would be that our stories don't end until we are dead, but perhaps you should tell me more of what you had in mind?"

Oliver picked at the cuff of his sleeve. Stories don't end until we are dead. Huh. Ironically, he could work with that, since Papa had died once before. That wasn't what he really wanted though. "I don't know how to write my story," he confessed. "I'm stuck."

Papa hummed. "Well, can I see what you've written so far?"

"It's not much. It just says Avonlea was under attack, you and Mama made a deal, and then you got to the Dark Castle. It ends 'when they arrived at the Dark Castle' in the middle of a sentence. It's maybe a third of a page...I wrote big letters."

"Ah. Wise strategy. Well...let's see...the key to a good story, is a memorable detail. I am not a writer, but as a teller or tales, it's the truth. Take away the glass slippers in Cinderella, and you have a scullery maid playing dress up. Take the spindle out of Sleeping Beauty, you have a narcoleptic. Take away Exaclibur? You have no King Arthur at all."

"So...a prop? Something like Excalibur?"

"Not so much a prop. A prop conveys...something hollow, like-Well you're getting acquainted with Lancelot's daughter, you'll learn that's exactly what Excalibur was in time. A truly _memorable_ detail is a symbol."

Oliver thought about that for a moment. A symbol. A symbol. Let's see...the dagger was out automatically, and not just becaue it was defunct now. Mama hated that thing. Um...the spinning wheel...no. No, Papa didn't seem to use it anymore, it must not be that important to their story. Roses? Well, maybe. Mama liked roses, and Oliver could remember Papa giving her roses. But...wait, didn't Gaston get turned into a rose? Nope. Can't use that. Not in the classroom.

"Maybe a book...?" Oliver said lamely. Mama still had a book, Her Handsome Hero, that she brought with her when she left the Dark Castle. Oliver wasn't keen on a story that ended with the death of a dark sorcerer himself, though.

Papa seemed to think about it, too, and shook his head. "No, no, something a bit more...I have just the thing."

The thing was in Papa's study safe, behind the painting of a tapestry that used to hang in the Dark Castle, or so Mama said. Oliver sat down at Papa's desk, in his chair, and was immediately curious about what could be inside the red velvet pouch being brought out of the safe. Could it be something made of gold? A mirror? A jewel? A letter? A preserved flower? What?

Papa spread out a handkerchief on the desk first. Then, carefully, he upended the contents in the middle of it. It was...it was...Oliver didn't know what the hell it was, other than broken.

"Uh..."

"Now, I understand it doesn't look like much now." Papa said, a little sheepishly. "But that's because it's, well, never been put back together properly. I simply never got around to it after you were born."

"Oh...kay..."

Papa smiled, kissing the top of Oliver's head for no good reason. "Do you recall, perhaps, a mentions of how your mother dropped a teacup on account of an ill-timed cannibalistic joke? This is that."

"You kept her broken teacup?" Oliver blinked at the mess, then up at his father. He'd heard of keeping tokens from a loved one, like locks of hair or gloves or handkerchiefs, (at least in books,) but a broken teacup?

"Well it wasn't broken when she dropped it. Er, that time." Papa picked up the part that still had the handle, holding it carefully. "It was just a bit in one spot. 'It's chipped,' she said, 'you can hardly see it.' Which was a bald-faced lie, but it was still useable. I rather liked it, actually, it had character that way. Of course at the time I told her we'd keep it as a reminder of her clumsiness. I was trying to set a strict foundation at the time...it didn't last particularly long, mind you."

Papa's smile turned sappy, turning the fragment over in his hand. Oliver had a hard time imagining his father being strict with Mama...or rather, Mama standing for it. Yeah, that probably hadn't lasted long.

"I used this cup at teatime in the Dark Castle," Papa said quietly. "And it was the only thing I had of her after I exiled her. It was how Regina lured me out during her curse, by stealing it from me, it was one of the first things your mother noticed when I brought her home for the first time. It was broken once during a very...strange episode for another time, but it was whole again soon enough in time to save your mother's memories. It always winds up finding one of us, during every curse, every up and every down. I had to break it for something to cut my ropes with,-another long story,-and just...never...put the pieces back together again..."

Papa trailed off, prompting Oliver to look up at him. He looked...old. Sad. Oliver turned back to the cup, not sure what to make of his father's expression, focusing on the cup instead. It was probably a pretty piece of china, once, it had a nice blue pattern and gold gilding on the handle and rim pieces. It had been broken at least once before this, according to Papa, and had definitely survived been through at least three curses, four if you count that thing Isaac Heller did.

And it was still here, Oliver marveled, gingerly touched one of the larger pieces...

* * *

After school, Opal went off to help set up the festival. She'd seen Neal and Tommy earlier, pouting as they slunk around behind Mr. Nolan, who was making himself handy where he could.

"Are they any help at all?" she asked while helping to hold up a sheet of plywood as Uncle Dopey drilled it into place on the two-by-four frame that made up the center of the maze walls.

Uncle Dopey didn't even stop what he was doing to shake his head.

Nobody really knew why Uncle Dopey couldn't talk, but Opal never had a problem understanding him. His brothers had been able to get what he meant even before they came here, where there was readily available pens and paper, and sign language, which was easy enough to learn once you got the basics. Or maybe it was easy because it was basically Opal's second language. She knew how to sign "mommy!" before she could say it, according to family legend.

She didn't like picking favorites, but Uncle Dopey _could_ be her favorite uncle. He was funny, and smarter than his name suggested, and he gave Opal a new hat for her birthday every year. (She gave him socks, he had a collection of funny socks.) Dad was wiring up lights, and since he was up on a ladder and Opal couldn't really help out, she decided to give Uncle Dopey a hand while he, Uncle Sneezy, and Uncle Tiny set up the maze.

The maze was probably Opal's favorite game/attraction at the festival. It was set up outside of Granny's Diner with her permission, (she already had the sign on the fence that said "Enter Thru Back, Thank You!", and flagging tape up as a gate,) in the front behind the fence that surrounded the outside eating area, edging around the corner of the building to the exit. It was more of a funhouse, but, it was a winding one, so technically it was maze-like. Most of the walls were made up of sheets of plywood and supporting two-by-fours, arranged to maximize space and block off Granny's front porch area with a wall so nobody tried to break in or whatever.

The decorations were the best part. Last year someone went the extra mile on one spot and put down yellow linoleum tiles for a yellow brick road and fake poppies in a spot that simulated the yellow brick road. It was always a little different, every year, artsy volunteers going in and decorating the maze with different themes. Last year they'd had a great painting of Maleficent as a dragon captured in potrait style, mid-flight, along a wall. Opal didn't see any painted sections of plywood yet, but they still had to finish setting up the bare bones of the maze before they got to the fancy stuff.

It was going pretty well. She didn't have to go home for another hour, plenty of time left in the day even if the sun had other ideas. "I can't wait for spring to get here and bring back the sun already," she sighed, and Uncle Dopey nodded in agreement.

That was when there was a sneeze, and a grinding noise and crash, and a shout, and things stopped going so well. It seemed Uncle Sneezy forgot he wasn't supposed to be using the drill. It was The Staple Gun Incident all over again.

Uncle Tiny had Uncle Sneezy's hand bound up in a handkerchief in a jiffy, and Mr. Nolan was hustling him into his truck to whisk him to the ER. Uncle Tiny said he thought there was just more blood than actual harm, since it looked like the drillbit only grazed the soft outer edge of Uncle Sneezy's hand, so that was something to hope for.

Unfortunately with his dad gone, Neal was left alone with Tommy, and vice versa. Uncle Tiny tried to include them in the maze set-up, which went about as well as Opal expected. Neither boy wanted to dirty their princely little hands with the labor that went in to making Heritage Day. Tommy complained he'd gotten a splinter holding up the plywood, and when Neal was sent to get another box of screws, he didn't come back.

"I'll go get him," Tommy offered when Uncle Tiny ran out of screws before the weasel returned.

"Alright, hurry back." Uncle Tiny said simply, Tommy making a break for it before the words all came out. Opal could only roll her eyes. Not only were they pathetic, they were _predictably_ pathetic. Uncle Dopey was watching, too. He turned to Uncle Tiny and signed, _They aren't coming back_ , with a raised eyebrow that screamed of how unimpressed he was. Facial expressions played a big part in how signing worked.

Uncle Tiny only smiled. "I know. I'm kind of hoping they don't and get in trouble for it later."

Opal grinned. None of her uncles were stupid, even the honorary one. All things considered, things did seem to go a bit faster without two deadbeats dragging them down. Uncle Happy and a non-dwarf volunteer appeared to help them just before Dad took Opal home.

Peter and Joseph were sitting there in the living room trying to convince Sam to come when they called her, which didn't seem to be going well. "She sits good though." Peter said, petting the cat's ears. Sam might've been asleep, her eyes were shut. "Good kitty."

The kitchen smelled awesome, and not because of the reheated leftovers for dinner. Two trays of something yummy were cooling out on the counter, and Robbi was washing the mixer bowl that Opal forgot they had. Her parents weren't exactly home bakers, that was something Mr. Gold did.

Mom's head popped up from behind the other end of the kitchen island. "Oh hi, how was your day?"

"Sneezy had an accident with a drill he shouldn't have been using and I'm pretty sure those two convicts escaped," Dad offered her a hand in getting up off the floor where she was wiping something up. "But otherwise we're on schedule. How about you?"

"The boys taught the cat to sit, and Robbi did her baking."

"I spilled flour everywhere," said baker confessed, looking guilty. "But we cleaned it up and everything turned out okay."

(That would later prove to have been a big step for Robbi, as Mom would explain later that she'd almost had a panic attack in the kitchen when the mixer got put on the wrong setting and sent flour all over the counter and flour and themselves. She got through it with a little bit of comforting and a breathing exercise, but Opal kept forgetting that making a mess was something she took for granted. Robbi's aunt probably wouldn't make a big deal out of the mess, but her mother probably would have blown a little flour way out of proportion.)

(That damn witch could rot under the hospital until they had to build a new one over the top of her.)

Robbi had apparently seen Mr. Gold today at his shop. He'd given her a pointer that, once they were sitting in Opal's bedroom as she worked on her homework, had her easily light up her little vial of fairy dust every time she gave it a try.

"Wow," Opal put the pencil she hadn't really been using down after the fifth time Robbi made the tiny bit of glass turn bright orange. "That's pretty awesome. How'd you do it?"

"Well Mr. Gold had be play around with this silver dish, um," Robbi shifted on her newly inflated air mattress, "so I could figure out a feeling that was...uh, right, I guess. I settled on leaves."

"Leaves?"

"Like the colors they turn in autumn, I mean. See, at the farmhouse, there's a thick patch of woods nearby and it turns all kinds of colors in the fall: Red, orange, yellow, gold, green, some things even turn purple. I just...it always kinda makes me _happy_ to see it, and since it doesn't involve anyone else..." Robbi shrugged. "I guess it works?"

"Obviously. Do it again!"

Robbi gave the tiniest, most pleased little smile and did just that. A steady glow twinkled to life, a shade of orange tinged just a bit red. Burnt orange maybe? Garrick liked to read the labels on crayons and assign their color to the world, Opal usually settled on "red" or "blue" or whatnot. Whatever color it was, the magical light in the vial was very pretty.

Unfortunately when Robbi passed it to Opal, it died as sure as blowing out a candle.

Maybe Opal ought to give that dish a try, because for the life of her she couldn't make the stupid thing light up, no matter how she tried. And she had tried, plenty. She had a lot of good memories to draw on, she even tried to draw on the abstract joy she got from trips to the fairy dust mines and succeeding at smacking Phil Briars' face with a ball during a game of dodgeball the one time. It just...

Oliver and Robbi both mentioned the vial made their skin itch, but Opal didn't _feel_ anything. Not even a prickle. She plastered on a smile and tossed it back to Robbi, (oh crap, throwing it was a bad idea, thank god she caught it,) taking up her pencil and waving it in the air vaguely.

"Meh, maybe I need some lessons like you guys. I mean, we can't all be naturals like Garrick, right?"

"I suppose so," Robbi nodded, getting up to tuck the vial away in the drawer that had been cleared out for her stuff. It was where Opal usually kept her socks and underwear, but all that had been scooped out and dumped in a cardboard box in her closet where she usually kept her hats and mittens and the like. "I'm pretty sure I'm not a natural at all. Mr. Gold might let you try working with that dish though, if you stop there tomorrow at the shop."

"Maybe...but I'll probably keep helping my dad with the festival. Maybe later. Hey, what's twelve divided by four?"

"Three, I think."

"Cool, cool, what's seventy-two divided by eight?"

"Hey!" Robbi's face turned pink. "I can't help you cheat on your homework, stop that!"

* * *

Regina dutifully jotted down the passing emotion in her Hopper-ordered journal- _I miss having company at dinner at home,_ -before she grabbed her coat and keys and headed to Granny's. She half-expected the diner to go silent when she entered, that the rumors about Robbi had gotten around quickly, but apparently that wasn't big enough news yet to warrant more than one or two quick glances. Good.

However, one of the glances came from Emma, who was sitting at a booth with her daughter. She didn't turn away, and even though she wasn't certain what she wanted to do...well there was no avoiding it, she was less than five feet away.

"Emma."

"Regina."

"Do you want to sit with us?" Cleo asked as guiless as her grandmother. "We've got lots of room, and Daddy's not coming."

Emma made a face that clearly said, _"You didn't have to say that,"_ which Regina tactfully ignored. Instead she looked to Emma and decided to be polite. "May I?"

"Um...I...suppose so," she hesitantly agreed. "Yeah, sure. Um, Killian found a job on the docks, but it's a lot of night work."

"He said it's the graveyard shift," Cleo grinned. "Doesn't that sound cool? _The graveyard shift_. Is it scary do you think?"

"I suppose it depends on who you bump into." In Storybrooke, that could be quite literal. Regina elected to sit beside Cleo, rather than Emma, so she wouldn't crowd the other woman. Some things needed to be straightened out between them, obviously, but they'd have to make a slow start of it. And nothing was a slower start than asking about Cleo. "So what sort of school projects have you been up to lately?"

"We made crests for Heritage Day. They had a bunch of ones on display if you were from a certain area or a royal family, so I copied Grandma's. I don't think it looks very good though, It was kinda hard to draw the fiery stuff on top of the square."

"Was it a black square on a white background?" Regina asked, frowning. That was the pattern she stole and inverted when she became the Evil Queen. After the murders began, you know. "That's not Snow's, that's _her_ father's coat of arms."

"Well couldn't he pick something prettier? Or easier to draw? Straight lines are hard to get right."

Emma smiled, the tiniest bit. "I guess we both missed out on the art gene. No idea where Ruth gets it from."

"Not from Snow, I'll tell you that." Regina snorted. "She tried taking up drawing once when she was about twelve, and let me tell you, I've never seen a broken stick figure before."

"Yeah but she's good at the birdhouse thing. Maybe she's just not so good at drawing."

That was a fair point. Eventually Cleo regained the conversation by saying she and her two best friends planned on going to the festival all together, then she looked around and asked, "Where's Robbi?"

"She's...um...she's..." Regina hesitated, her mind going traitorously blank.

"She's having a sleepover with Opal," Emma supplied.

Regina gave her a grateful look with just her eyes as Cleo leaned over the table towards her mother. "Really? They're for-real friends now?"

"I...yes?"

Cleo nodded, satisified. "Good. Robbi's nice, she should have more friends. I didn't see her are school today, I heard she had to leave absent."

"Take a _leave of_ absence, you mean. Yeah, that's true. You might see her at the festival though."

"She's making something for the library bake sale," Regina added. "Maybe you're mom will let you buy some sweets."

That was a laugh, Emma _may_ buy sweets. For as long as Regina had known her, Emma Swan could not turn down a baked good. She'd hadn't been thinking about it at the time when she made the poisoned apple turnover, but in hindsight, it was a much better trap for Emma than a straight-up poisoned apple. But then, who could resist flaky, buttery pastry wrapped around sweet, sticky apple filling, especially piping hot with a scoop of ice cream and-

Oh damn it, now all she could think about was apple pie. Well damn it, Regina was an adult, so that's what she ordered for dinner. And she ignored any potentional hypocrisy there, considering how she'd just been mentally poking fun of Emma's sweet tooth. It didn't matter because both mother and daughter split a milkshake when they were done eating, which really only proved Regina's point, in her mind.

Today was better than yesterday. Sometimes that was enough to give you hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so I have TWO gift exchange fics due in July, and I don't like portions of the next chapter I had lined up to post in two weeks so that might not get put out. Time well tell in two weeks, but know that I am working on it, and in case I fail, *this* is why.


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